Tribute
by Crescent Venus
Summary: On her first day as Other Realm Spirit Detective, Sabrina Spellman must unravel the mystery surrounding the cursed Gracey Manor. Crossover with Disney's Haunted Mansion. Part 1 of the Spirit Detective Files. Currently being re-edited!
1. First Day On the Job

A chill wind whistled through the swampy grounds. Sabrina Spellman shivered, wishing again that she'd thought to wear a warmer outfit. Poking his head out from the backpack Sabrina wore, Salem scowled. "Not much, is it?" he drawled. Sabrina's lips briefly quirked upwards in a shadow of a smile, before she shivered again.

"And just why are we doing this again?" the teenage witch muttered angrily.

* * *

**Twenty minutes earlier...**

_**Sabrina tapped her feet against the floor of the waiting room outside of Drell's office. Upon her arrival home from detention (Even teleporting oneself to school didn't save one from the evil clutches of Mr. Kraft, ever on the lookout for late students), Aunt Zelda had nervously handed her a summons from the Other Realm.**_

_**She had bravely trooped off to the linen closet, Salem tagging curiously behind. After all, there was no sense in prolonging one's doom…especially with an impatient Head of the Witches' Council waiting for her.**_

_**The door to his office opened. "SABRINA SPELLMAN," a voice boomed, "ENTER."**_

_**"What is this, the Wizard of Oz?" the teen witch muttered, as she straightened up and walked into the room. Inside, she was greeted by the sight of Drell, seated behind a massive oaken desk, and Skippy, seated in a squishy-looking blue armchair that was horribly out of place with the furnishings.**_

_**Sabrina smiled and nodded to Skippy, who grinned and waved, not uttering a sound. Then again, the petite man never spoke, so that wasn't exactly unusual. She turned and gave Drell a quick bow—she wasn't sure what kind of mood he was in, and formality was better than risking his temper.**_

_**Drell motioned to a high-backed wooden chair behind her. "Have a seat."**_

_**As Sabrina sat, Salem circled her ankles, and then leaped onto her lap. Drell's eyes narrowed. "You brought the cat. You know how I feel about the cat."**_

_**"And good afternoon to you too," Salem purred. As long as he was with Sabrina, and technically wasn't TOO provoking, Drell could do nothing to him.**_

_**Drell glared at the cat for a few more moments, until Sabrina cleared her throat. "Ah, yes, back to the business at hand." He picked up a manila folder in front of him, riffled through the contents briefly, and shoved the folder at her. "Here's your first assignment, Detective."**_

_**Sabrina was sure her jaw must have hit the carpeted floor. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! 'Detective?' 'Assignment?' WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"**_

_**Drell folded his hands and gave her the patient, slightly patronizing look he wore before delivering a sentence, elucidating difficult things to Sabrina, or explaining to Aunt Hilda why he'd stood her up on their last date. "I've just attended an inter-dimension meeting with other heads of state," he began.**_

_**Sabrina sighed. "Yes…?" she prompted.**_

_**"And I was speaking with the Head of Administration of a realm called Reikai…"**_

_**Sabrina frowned slightly. "Yes…?"**_

_**"And he was speaking of a special department he oversees—a sort of investigation task force…"**_

_**Sabrina groaned, burying her head in her hands. "What about it?"**_

_**"He called them the 'Reikai Tantei,' which translates to 'Spirit Detective.' I thought it was kind of neat…"**_

_**Sabrina considered beating herself silly on the sharp edge of the desk. "And so…you set up a department like this of your own, didn't you?"**_

_**Drell beamed. "You're the first member. Now, no more time to delay. Here's your assignment—there should be a portal coming to pick you up in a few minutes—and have a great time!"**_

_**"What?" she shrieked, abruptly standing up. Salem yowled in protest as he was dumped off her lap onto the floor. "You can't do this to me! I've had no training, have virtually no fighting skills, no previous warning of this, and…" Sabrina groped for a final reason. "It's a school night!" she finished triumphantly.**_

_**Skippy, hands on hips, nodded vigorously, taking up Sabrina's cause. He waggled his finger at Drell in a scolding gesture.**_

_**Drell shrugged. "Not my problem!" he chirped cheerfully. He ignored Sabrina's second shriek of protest, as a swirling white-and-pink vortex appeared in the doorway. Drell stepped from behind his desk, placed a hand on Sabrina's shoulder, picked Salem up by the scruff of his neck, and gave them a shove into the vortex. As their forms disappeared, he waved goodbye. "We'll discuss this later! Have a great time!" he called, in the manner of a mother sending a reluctant child off to school.**_

* * *

And thus began the first day of Sabrina Spellman's career as Other Realm Spirit Detective.

Now, Sabrina and Salem stood before a huge wrought-iron gate, looking onto the swampy land below them. A dirt driveway led downward from the gate, with gnarled trees clustering on either side. The swampy grove extended as far as Sabrina could see. Behind her, a large river swept through the landscape, connecting, through other rivers and canals, to the ocean. A small river flowed out of the larger one, touching the front of the house. _Advantageous_, Sabrina mused. _**Access by both land and water**_.

The portal had dumped them unceremoniously onto the dirt road right in front of the gates. Once she had brushed the dirt off her dress, Sabrina consulted Drell's folder, which had somehow made it into her backpack. According to the first document, they were in Louisiana, about twenty-five miles outside of New Orleans. Surveying the wild, gloomy countryside around her, Sabrina had wondered if it wasn't more.

The place she was to investigate was known as 'Gracey Manor.' The history the document had recanted was brief. It had been the home of the prestigious Gracey family since the early 1800s. Sometime shortly after the Civil War, the family had disappeared, as well as the many servants and guests known to be staying at the Mansion. The grounds decayed, and locals claimed to have seen ghosts on the grounds of the house, as well as a hideous spirit-like face that shot from the house to the gate to warn off trespassers. Many blamed the 'curse,' as they called it, on a gypsy woman obsessed with the occult who had befriended the family.

Drell had been receiving reports of rising amounts of dark supernatural activity. He was becoming worried. Now, Sabrina was to investigate the cause of the dark energy, and perhaps even crack the mystery behind the Gracey home. She sighed. _The last thing I wanted to be doing tonight is investigating a haunted house…scratch that, I don't want to investigate a haunted house __**ever**__! But…if I leave, Drell's gonna find out, and get royally pissed…_

"Sabrina, I don't wanna do this," Salem began to whine. "It'll be really sca-scary! And despite what they say, cats do not have nine lives, so if I die of a heart attack…"

"Quit whining, you baby," Sabrina rolled her eyes; "we'll just take a look around and leave. Twenty minutes, tops."

"Fine," Salem whimpered.

Sabrina turned around to stuff the folder into her backpack. We'll just look around, tell Drell it was just a bunch of ghosts angry at people sneaking onto the property, find out why he thought ANY of this was a good idea, and be back in time to watch 'Dawson's Creek'…

As Sabrina turned around, the gate creaked open. Sabrina's jaw dropped a little. "Did you open it?" she whispered to Salem.

"Did you?" he whispered, also staring at it.

The gates were imposing, nearly twice the height of a grown man, and adorned with the lacy ironwork typical of New Orleans. The apex featured an oval bearing a Gothic-styled letter 'G.' She licked her lips, examining them, as the gate door nearest them creaked further, a macabre invitation to enter.

Sabrina gulped, picked up the backpack with Salem in it, and started toward the house. As she walked, she also wished she'd thought to wear more comfortable shoes.

"Tell me again why you decided to point up that outfit," Salem drawled, eyeballing her dress.

"It's a haunted mansion," Sabrina sighed. "Shouldn't I look the part?"

If Salem's feline features would have allowed him to raise an eyebrow, he would have done so. Instead, he settled for a disbelieving stare.

Sabrina fidgeted. "Okay, maybe I…saw it in a magazine and thought it was cute, and wanted to try it out," she mumbled.

The dress was black and buttoned down the front, with a slightly flared skirt ending midway around her thighs. Under it, she had pointed up crinoline petticoats, adding black knee-length boots to match the dress. Sabrina had worn her hair in braids today, so she decided fasten each with a twist of black ribbon as a gleeful, if slightly macabre, touch.

"But did you have to add the black eye shadow?" Salem snorted.

"…I balanced it out with pink lip gloss," she mumbled.

"You look like a wannabe Goth."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

The pair bickered amiably over Sabrina's fashion sense (or, as Salem teased, lack thereof), as they continued down the winding driveway. It was cold, even for October, and despite it being afternoon, dark gray clouds hung oppressively over the forest swampland. Occasional drafts of icy wind hissed through the trees. Sabrina bit her lip, trying to ignore what sounded like faint whispering, while Salem yelped that there were bats in the trees.

_It's not the bats I'm worried about…it's those faintly glowing red eyes in the shadows of the bog…_

Walking quickly, Sabrina kept her eyes in front of her. Salem huddled into a ball in the bottom of the backpack, whimpering all the while. Fraidy-cat, she thought affectionately. But all of a sudden, the house itself loomed in front of them, and Sabrina forgot everything else.

It was beautiful, once. Three stories tall, and an aged shade of white, it was everything an antebellum mansion should be. Graceful wrought-iron pillars propped up the porch, while balconies and windows nearly covered the façade. An enormous glass-and-iron dome of a conservatory bulged at one end. She had to crane her head back to see the cupola at the very top.

But the house itself and the grounds had fallen under massive decay.

The slimy water lethargically stretched to the porch, where weeds grew from cracks between the stones. Years of exposure to the elements in the bayou tinged spots of the marble façade a sickly green. Mist seemed to emanate from behind the house, swirling around the sides and snaking into the front drive. Spider webs stretched between the four huge pillars holding up the porch.

Sabrina breathed in, then out. _Come on, Spellman, you're a witch! You're supernatural, yourself! Why should __**you**__, of all people, be afraid of ghosts?_

As she started up the drive that led to the porch, Sabrina glanced in the water. Was it her imagination feeding on the fearful atmosphere of the place, or was that a bony hand she saw just under the surface? She shut her eyes, praying, and hurried to the porch.

Sabrina bit her lip, reaching out a hand to brush away the cobwebs obscuring her path. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a dull-green spider with what looked like fangs scuttling towards her. With a shriek, Sabrina rushed through the web, and scrambled up the steps, nearly tripping several times.

With a start, she found herself standing in front of the huge stone double doors of the mansion. She paused, eying the brass lion-head knockers. They were so old that the metal was covered with tarnish. Sabrina hesitantly raised a hand to push the door open, when the door nearest her slowly swung open of its own accord.

Sabrina narrowed her eyes, and looked over her shoulder at Salem, who was shivering, and just barely poking his head out. "Here we go…" Sabrina muttered.

* * *

On the second-floor balcony of the Foyer, six figures watched the young girl that entered. Their faint pearly glow lent the balcony a slight aura.

"She seems to be a nice young girl," smiled a grandmotherly ghost. She adjusted her spectacles as she beamed at Sabrina.

To her right, an elderly man dressed in a European-style cape and suit popular in Beethoven's day leaned forward to get a better look, squinting as he examined her clothing. "What on Earth is she wearing? She looks like a beggar." He frowned, his nasal tone giving a hint of disapproval.

A rotund man who bore a strong resemblance to King Henry VIII scoffed at the organist. "We can't pick and choose," he boomed, "and you know it. Besides…er…styles do change…"

"But she's so **young**," sighed the woman on his right, a stereotypical classical opera diva. "Do you think she could be at **all **possibly ready for this?"

The man next to her, wearing a morning suit, twirled his ghostly pistol around his finger thoughtfully. "Ah don' rightly know. She looks like a reg'lar lil' lady ter me. Best see how she holds up undah fahr, ah reckon," he drawled.

"Come, come," interrupted the knight at the duelist's shoulder. He shifted his head higher where he carried it in the crook of his arm. "It is high time we introduced ourselves to the lady."

The others ghosts nodded, and began to float down from the balcony.

Sabrina looked around. Wow, this place is huge! The foyer they stood in was impressively large. A double staircase flanked a doorway across from the main door. The second floor that the staircase led to had a small balcony on either side. An enormous gold-and-crystal chandelier hung above her head. Paintings hung on every wall.

Of course, it would have been more impressive had the lights been turned on, the potted plants alive, and dust and cobwebs not sticky-thick on everything.

Yet, as far as she could see, they were alone. No creepy-crawlies, no spooky ghosts, and no grotesque monsters. Nothing. "Salem, it's okay," she hissed. "We're alone." The cat poked his head out, and swiveled his gaze around the room.

He began to quake even more—Sabrina could feel him vibrating against her. "No, we're not," he whimpered.

"Huh?" Sabrina looked around. "I don't…"

Six pearly-luminescent figures descended from the second-floor balcony to hover roughly six feet in front of her. Ghosts!

Sabrina's mouth opened, her eyes growing huge. She had never seen a ghost before, and despite being a witch possessing supernatural powers, Sabrina was very 'normal' in many aspects. She was half-human, after all.

So, she did the only sensible thing that any normal person would do. She keeled over on the floor in a dead faint.

The pirate ghost winced. "Ouch. That's going to leave a mark, it will."

The knight sighed. "Come. There is not much time. **SHE **is waiting."

The ghostly welcoming committee gently hovered around Sabrina, before picking her up and transporting her out of the Foyer.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

Hello! My name is Crescent Venus, and this is the first installation in my fun and freaky "The Spirit Detective Files" fic series. This is a Sabrina the Teenage Witch crossover with various other properties (Disney so far, and an eventual Yu Yu Hakusho one as well). The "Sabrina the Teenage Witch" portion of this is a blend of the different types of the franchise: the original comics, the "manga" reboot, and the TV show. (I'll admit that it was hard choosing just one, but there are so many fun elements to use!) Characters from the different versions will make appearances, but not all of them (sadly, we don't have enough time/room for that!). The Haunted Mansion in the story is a blend of the ride as well as the movie adaptation and the video game (that was adapted from the movie).

The series is rated T/PG-13 for thematic elements and occasional language. If semi-graphic violence or occasional profane language disturbs you, please be warned.

As a general disclaimer, I do not own any of the intellectual properties used in this work (Sabrina, the Teenage Witch and Disney's Haunted Mansion). This work is intended solely for entertainment, and no profit is being made. (I do make occasional pop culture or history references; I make no claim to any of those properties, as well.)

This story is actually more heavily based off the game, although I'll be tying in some finer plot elements from the ride's backstory. Some names and character backgrounds are taken from the Haunted Mansion fan site, Doombuggies. It's a fun site (not endorsed by Disney) that tries to create stories for the Haunted Mansion characters. Other names are taken from Disney Imagineers or from the movie.

Also, as a whim of fancy, I've very briefly tied in some of Yu Yu Hakusho, which has to be one of the best anime TV shows in the world. The characters from Yu Yu Hakusho will not be showing up until much later, and not in this story. I just wanted to point this out before anybody became confused by the first chapter.

Other things to keep in mind while reading:

The story is set in 1999, which means that, following the canon of the television show, Sabrina should be nineteen. However, STTW has two sets of canon plot: the television show and the comics/manga (Okay, there IS the movie made before the show, but I don't think that counts). I'm incorporating elements from both the television show and the comics/manga, which means that some elements may be tweaked for plot purposes. I apologize for any confusion that may arise. Sabrina's birthday falls in May (the "manga" canon) instead of August/September like it does on the TV show. So she's seventeen (will turn eighteen before she graduates), and a senior in high school.

The Haunted Mansion is in the same plane of reality as Sabrina's world (i.e. It's in the same U.S.A. she lives in, same dimension, etc).

According to this story, Zeke Holloway (the hero of the actual video game) did not go to the Mansion to save the residents. He is tied into its past in another way, however.

A note about the formatting:

_Italicized_ words are internal thoughts/dialogue.

**Bolded** words are for verbal emphasis on spoken dialogue.

_**Bolded and italicized**_ words are flashbacks.

Dividing lines are for changes of scene or point of view, or for marking the end of the chapter.

6/19/12: Hoo boy, I just can't let go of editing, can I? This is about the third round of editing that this story has undergone. To be fair, I started writing this back in high school, so it's a little rougher than my writing these days. The editing, for new readers who may be curious, is not major for the most part: re-checking for typos, occasional changes to dialogue to make it flow better, clarifying plot points, and removing two things I can't believe I added: Sabrina swearing like a sailor, and Thorne's pseudo-Shakespearian speech pattern (WHAT was I thinking?). I do read my reviews critically for hints to help improve my work, so don't be surprised if you re-read and find it slightly different the next time around.

I also went ahead and added this author's note/disclaimer to the first chapter and deleted all prior Reader Review Responses in order to comply with regulations (the price of doing business, I'm afraid).


	2. Deep Secrets

Darkness pressed on Sabrina's eyelids as her head throbbed. Ugh. Where AM I? With a rush, the memories swooped back, and she groaned.

She thought she felt something like a gentle touch on her cheek, soft and caressing. A soft voice spoke gently, very near her. "Oh, look, she's awakened after that nasty scare, the poor child."

Grandma? No…couldn't be…

"She's baaaaaaaaaccck!" a high soprano voice trilled.

Sabrina muttered something that she hoped sounded like "Shut up," but she couldn't be sure. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened them to see a ghostly elderly lady hovering near her. The woman gave her a comforting smile. "Are you feeling better, dear?"

Sabrina reached up and rubbed her head. "I think…"

"Arr, ye will be on yer feet in no time a'tall, lass," chuckled the rotund pirate captain. Shocked and nodding, Sabrina searched in her backpack for Salem, who cuddled against her when he felt her warm touch.

Sabrina observed the ghosts with wide eyes, as they 'sat back' and observed her. Finally, the knight cleared his throat. "Come, we must be on our way." He turned to Sabrina. "**SHE **is expecting you." With a bow, he departed, along with the other five ghosts.

Sabrina blinked at Salem. Salem blinked at Sabrina. "Do you think he could have been any **more **vague?" Sabrina mumbled.

"Most likely. Let's not keep **'HER' **waiting," Salem grumbled.

Sabrina attempted to stand, and placed her right hand on the nearest thing, which turned out to be a stone wall. Looking around, she realized they were in a narrow stone tunnel, and not seven or eight feet in front of them lay a lighted room.

Sabrina's boots made sharp, staccato clicks, although Salem's soft paws made virtually no sound as he padded by her side. Soon, they entered into the room, and Sabrina was nearly convinced they had stepped into another world.

The floor was covered with Oriental and Persian rugs in reds, purples, and ocher. Draperies were pinned to the ceiling, hanging down in folds that reminded Sabrina of the inside of a circus tent. Baskets, trunks, and stands of exotic knickknacks—and some items Sabrina was totally unfamiliar with—were arranged in little niches. Silken, tasseled pillows were arranged in piles. Sabrina could practically feel Salem quiver with excitement at the sight of the tassels.

In the center of the room was a circular table, shrouded in a red cloth with silver embroidery. One lone chair sat behind it. Upon the table was a crystal ball.

Sabrina could **feel **the magic in the air of the room. Perhaps the room's former owner was a witch, like herself. However, it looked more like the owner was a gypsy or circus fortune-teller, judging by the décor.

The air seemed to grow denser, and she could feel the magic gathering. "Sabrina! The magic's being centered in the crystal ball!" Salem growled, preparing a feline 'battle stance.'

The ball, once clear, now heavily swirled with internal clouds of greens and blues. As the nonplussed pair watched, the face of a woman became visible. Sabrina stepped backward. What the heck is going on?

The swirling stopped, and the woman's face was now more easily defined. She was beautiful, with a delicate nose and full lips. Curly, wavy hair was piled into a bun and held back with an embroidered headband, but curly strands framed either side of her face. Slowly, the woman's eyes opened, and she began to chant.

"Awakened now from troubled sleep,

You find yourself where shadows creep.

The Mansion hides its history,

But solve you will this mystery.

You'll find the truth buried deep,

Beneath the walls where spirits weep."

Sabrina stared at the woman, bewildered, but entranced by the rich, sultry voice.

The woman smiled. "I, child, am Madame Leota: speaker of the spirit world, medium of the mysterious, and seeker of things unseen. And I know why you're here, Sabrina."

Sabrina sighed. "Wonderful. Then can you tell me what's up with Drell?" She paused, musing. "He was really odd today; he sent us off so suddenly. I wonder why he picked me, of all people…"

Leota chuckled throatily. "I may be a clairvoyant, dear, but my powers don't extend to telepathy."

The teenage witch sighed. "Then can you tell us what's wrong with this crazy house so Salem and I can go home?"

Leota pursed her lips. "It isn't that easy, child. The reasons for which Drell sent you are inexorably tied to the ghostly residents of this house."

Salem had relaxed from his pose, and now curiously inched forward. Sabrina took his cue, and walked until she was a foot away from the ball. "What do you mean?"

"A long time ago, child, this house used to be the home of the Gracey family. They were wealthy landowners, and this Mansion was not only their home, but sort of a resort for their family, friends, and the wealthy elite from around the world."

Sabrina interrupted. "Until a mysterious curse was put on the home, and the family and the rest of the Mansion's residents disappeared. Right?"

Leota blinked. "Yes."

Sabrina leaned forward on the table as Salem jumped up to curl in front of the crystal ball. "Then what caused the curse? Where did the family go?"

Leota sighed. "This story is more complicated than you would believe, and we don't have the time to go into that now. I promise you'll hear the full story later. Suffice to say, an evil man named Atticus Thorne took over the house once the family was gone, and began corrupting the house and the residents with his evil magic.

"We are trapped inside this Mansion, Sabrina. And alone, I and the few ghosts that have not been turned evil by Thorne can do little to stop him. That's why we need your help."

Sabrina chewed her lip thoughtfully. "So the dark magical energy that Drell sensed near the house…"

"Must have been Thorne," Salem finished. "Makes sense. So we have to stop him, huh?"

Leota gaped. "A talking cat?" she questioned, eyes wide.

Salem growled. "Listen, lady, you're a talking head in a crystal ball, and **you **think it's weird that **I** can talk?"

"Salem used to be a warlock, before he got turned into a cat for a century. He tried to take over the world," Sabrina hastened to add. Way to go Salem, let's anger one of the few people were who can help us.

Leota blinked for a few seconds. Recovering her composure, she nodded. "Er, yes. Thorne **must **be stopped if the souls in the Mansion are to be freed."

"Just how many ghosts **are **there, anyway?" Salem asked, curiously.

"We have 999 happy haunts here in the Mansion," Leota smugly informed him. "And we always have room for one more." She winked naughtily.

Salem shuddered, before turning to Sabrina. "And you said it would only be twenty minutes," he accused.

Sabrina, choosing to ignore him, pressed on. "So, how do we defeat Thorne? I may be both a witch **and **a Spirit Detective…whatever that means…but I'm not powerful enough to defeat a fully-grown magic user."

"We will be aided in our quest by a magic artifact," said Leota, as a light glimmered at the top of the room. It floated down to reveal a…lantern. A slightly tarnished, once golden-colored, lantern.

"Wow," Salem drawled sarcastically, "this gets better and better. Not only do we have to defeat a dark magic-using control freak, but we get to do it in style with a piece of camping equipment."

Leota shut her eyes, mentally counting to ten. "This," she explained in a long-suffering tone of voice, "is the Beacon of Souls. It is designed to fight dark magic by using the power of light. However," she warned, "Thorne will be using his own dark magic to try and stop us. He'll put barriers on the doors, and twist the very rooms themselves—until the lights are turned on, of course. The dark energy Thorne's infused into the evil spirits will diminish, making them shriveled and cowardly. You'll need to draw them into the Beacon, where they'll become purified. Then, they should slowly regain their memories and become their former selves."

Sabrina blinked as she examined the lantern closely.

Leota cleared her throat as she continued. "Now, the source of the Beacon's power comes from six sacred jewels known as Soul Gems. I gave five of them to some of the ghosts you just met, who have hidden them somewhere in the Mansion. We have one left, which allows the Beacon to function, although very weakly."

The lone gem that was set into the Beacon caught the light. It reminded Sabrina of a diamond, but this gem caught the bit of light in the room, and reflected it in pure hearts of white, blue, and pink. "Will the others make it stronger?"

"Yes," Leota nodded, "when the other five are collected, it should be quite formidable."

"Great then," Salem stretched out on the fabric, "what are we waiting for? Let's go, Sabs."

"Well, not so fast, Mr. Fuzzy Lips! **I'll** also be helping Sabrina…"

Sabrina blinked. "Where are we going to put you?"

"I'll just ride in your satchel there…"

"Okay."

"Rmmmph. Hey, hey, watch it! I'm fragile! Careful, honey, careful! Oooh…fingerprints! Watch the fingerprints!"

Salem shook his head as he also leaped into the backpack, near Leota, and Sabrina walked out of the room.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

Yes, the story's structure is based on the game. I'm doing my best to make the story seem like one that would fit into a supernatural detective story. I it works and that everyone likes it!

I know that it's cliche to hear, "We'll tell you the full story later," but in Leota's defense, Sabrina needs to meet some of the key players in the story to fully understand.

Oh, and Drell's weird behavior? Why he made Sabrina into a Spirit Detective? Yes, all will be explained...but in the next story. For now, my dear readers, both you AND Sabrina are in the dark, in order to heighten the mystery. Heh heh...

Next chapter: Sabrina gets a crash course in ghost-busting and magic lantern-wielding thaks to Madame Leota. But does she have the resolve to carry out a task of this magnitude?


	3. The Mission Begins

Sabrina found that the Séance Room was actually underground—and the passageway to get there was under the fireplace. As the trio stepped out, Sabrina brushed slight traces of ash off her skirt. "What happens if you want to get down there, but there's a fire?" she wondered.

"You're screwed?" Salem offered.

Leota scowled at Salem's language. "**THIS**," she began, hoping to divert the conversation, "is the Great Hall. We'll begin our quest here."

"Ooh…we're starting a quest, Sabs! Don't you feel all RPG-like?"

"Shut up."

Leota's eyebrow twitched. Am I going to have to avert bloodshed the entire time they're here? She sighed, and cleared her throat. "All right, our main objective in every room is to turn on the light—the switch to that room is next to the door."

Sabrina shrugged. "Seems simple enough."

The small group began to meander towards the other end of the room. The Great Hall wasn't as impressive as the other two rooms were—the room was a bland oatmeal color, with auburn-colored terra-cotta floor tiles. Chairs and wooden chests were scattered on either side of the hallway, and dusty dark brown draperies framed slightly warped windows. She could see a storm brewing outside the nearest window. There were also a few paintings, but the focal point seemed to be the fireplace they'd exited from.

Sabrina squinted as she saw what appeared to be a flash of light. "Leota, what's that?" she asked, pointing to the door. As the gauzy shape drew nearer, Sabrina saw it was black-and-white, with a skeletal head, clawed hands, and a dripping aura of cold.

"…That would be one of those bad ghosts I told you about."

"What should I do?" Sabrina yelped, wondering how long it would be before it reached them.

"Fire the Beacon!"

"…and how would I do that?" Sabrina shot back. "I don't see a trigger anywhere."

"Just concentrate on the energy source inside of it! Use some of your magic and try pushing the energy from the Beacon towards the ghost!" Leota seemed a bit more frantic, since the ghost was drifting closer.

Sabrina held up the lantern, feeling silly, but determined. Screwing her eyes shut, she concentrated on the magical feel of the Beacon. The energy felt vaguely like magic, though almost like a tangible force. Summoning the concentration she normally used for casting spells, she imagined energy being forced towards the ghost. It's like casting a spell, really. Only, I'm manipulating this energy instead of my own magic.

Biting her lip, she concentrated harder, the ghost almost five feet away. With another mental and magical nudge, she pushed on the Beacon's energy, while pointing it at the ghost. To her amazement, a ball of white light shot from the core of the lantern, imploding on contact with the ghost.

Sabrina gaped as it slowly fizzled away into nothingness.

"Now, turn that switch on! Before another one comes out!" Leota urged.

Sabrina didn't need to be told twice, as she sprinted to the switch and flipped it on. The light fixtures on the ceiling flickered, and then lit up, spreading a buttery-warmth glow. Sabrina felt her insides relax.

She continued to walk around. Everything **seemed **to be in order…just really dusty…

_Is that me, or did that painting just move?_

Across the hall, a crooked painting seemed to shift slightly. Curious, Sabrina drew further. Upon touching it, the wall slid back to reveal a secret panel. Sabrina nearly jumped back in surprise.

"Leota, does this happen often?" _I'll need to be more careful, lest I give myself a heart attack._

"Oh, yes, Ambrose Gracey, who built this house, had all sorts of little niches and secret rooms and passageways built in. They're everywhere!"

Sabrina rubbed the back of her neck. "Lovely." A quick search turned up a scrap of paper. She bent and picked it up. It was made of parchment—very old—and was yellowed, vaguely brittle. "You've found part of a Death Certificate," Leota noted. "If we find the other pieces of it, we can take it to the proper ghost for a reward."

"Why would a ghost want a Death Certificate? Some kind of morbid memento?" Salem had poked his head out of the satchel and was staring at the scrap of parchment.

"It's...well..." Leota trailed off, and then frowned. "There are several ghosts here," she began slowly, as if trying to think of what to say, "that never lived here. They were connected with the family in some way or shape, and their remains were buried on the grounds. The six friends that I spoke of-the ones who greeted you before-are six of the most powerful ghosts here. They've been attempting to help me fight off Thorne's advances. But the last time that they did, they paid for it dearly." The psychic fell quiet for a few minutes. "They...had their memories erased."

Sabrina and Salem stared at her, curious and bewildered.

"You see, ghosts...that is...when a being dies and its soul doesn't pass on but remains...well, our memories become more focal to our existence than they were when we lived. Especially the moment that we died; it's the linchpin of our postmortem existence. And Thorne," Leota's voice became choked, "took their memories from them. He materialized them as these Death Certificates, tore them up, and scattered them."

"So their memories have been scattered throughout the house," Sabrina mused. "And we can...fix it?"

"I'm hoping that by collecting all the pieces, that we can...well, that we can 'fit it back,' for lack of a better phrase." Leota looked at Sabrina pleadingly. "Please...I don't know what could happen to them if they remain without their memories for too much longer. Are you willing to help me look for the pieces?"

"Of course!" Sabrina held the crystal ball up to her eye level and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

Leota sighed with relief, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Well, we should get going," Sabrina said. "Too much to do and not enough time!" A sudden shimmering caught her eye, as it coalesced into the form of a man. A ghost? The ghost huddled down behind a table, eyes darting nervously.

"Um, hello?" Sabrina offered, drawing nearer to the man.

"Oh no, oh no…" whimpered the man. Sabrina blinked. "I should have listened to the Madame…" Sabrina wondered if he'd even heard her.

The man began to rock forward on his heels, whimpering. "But it's too late now…too late for any of us…the worms…the worms will come for us all!"

"Someone forgot his Valium," Salem mumbled.

Sabrina looked at him pityingly. _Poor guy…I wonder what he's so worried about…_

That was when the window caught her eye. She stepped forward, putting a hand on one of the panes. It was cool to the touch—something normal in this house of horrors. Outside, heavy, ash-gray clouds swirled high in the sky, while the rest of the horizon was painted an unearthly pale yellow.

_There is an evil aura in this place…I can't place it exactly, but it seems to hang everywhere, rankling and festering. It feels…like death. _Sabrina shivered.

Salem rubbed against her shoulder. "You cold?"

"No—just scared out of my mind."

"You're the one with the magic lantern. Shouldn't** I **be scared?"

"Children, puh-**lease**!" Leota groaned. "Let's go, already. There's a lot to do, and not much time."

Sabrina slowly walked to the door, and put her hand out to touch the knob when a barrier of purple electricity sprang to life, crackling against the door. She stepped back, staring at it. Why was she here, again? She could walk into this room, and begin a fantastic and horrific journey that would lead to evil itself. She would risk her life again and again.

An estate full of lost souls hung in the balance, between a man corrupt with hatred and bitterness, and a lust for death…and between a girl who stood as an emissary of light, a figure of justice.

Would she do this?

Could she do this?

Was she strong enough to battle against a horde of supernatural creatures, to wander a house twisted and warped by dark magic? Could she withstand a servant of evil?

She was a witch, true, one of the most powerful creatures in the world. But she was also human, a weak human.

But…

She had to be strong enough. Why would Drell have chosen her, then? Why choose an agent not strong enough to perform the tasks given? This could be a test. A chance to prove herself. A chance to prove herself to the world—and to herself, that she could accomplish anything.

Yes, she would complete this task…even if it killed her.

Resolute, Sabrina firmly grasped the doorknob. The purple electricity melted into purple fire, and disappeared. Smiling grimly, Sabrina twisted the knob, and pulled.

And with Salem humming the theme from "Ghostbusters," she stepped forward.

The door shut behind the Spirit Detective. Briefly, a figure draped in robes of dull grays and blues hovered behind the door. It paused, fingering the long-bladed scythe it carried. As abruptly as it came, it glided upward, disappearing through the ceiling.

* * *

Next chapter: The mystery begins as Sabrina and her friends venture into the Mansion. Can they solve the barrage of puzzles throughout the rooms, or will the faulty staircases get to them first?


	4. The Mysterious Image

The Foyer was…impressive. Even with the lights turned off and the elusive stench of decay that permeated every room, it was absolutely incredible.

Her boot heels made only the softest of clicks on the gray-tiled floor, and the only other sounds besides the breathing of the girl and the cat were those of a clock, somewhere in the room.

"You know…" Leota mused aloud, briefly startling the girl, "the energy of souls long passed still lingers in the Mansion. Sometimes, I can use it communicate with spirits in the afterlife. Maybe I could try using it to gain information on how to maneuver the rooms in the Mansion. I'm sure we'll need any help we can get to solve the puzzles Thorne has devised."

"It would have been nice to know this earlier," Salem mumbled under his breath, not caring if the women heard or not. _**I'm **__the one who comes with Sabrina on any of our adventures! Stop trying to steal my spot!_

"That's nice," Sabrina mumbled, not paying strict attention. _We've got to get this figured out…ah, there's the set of stairs! This should be fairly straightforward, then._

As she began to climb the staircase, the second floor, swathed in shadows, began to slowly come into view. Is the light switch up there? Suddenly, the floor gave way under Sabrina's feet, and she was falling.

The world was covered in black, her companions were groaning in either pain or shock, and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. Sabrina opened her eyes with a groan, and the world came sharply back into focus. "Everyone all right?" she asked, reaching up to rub her head. Salem wriggled against her back.

"I would say that all my body parts seem to be in working order, but I'll get back to you when the pain starts fading," he drawled sarcastically.

"You okay, Leota? Not cracked or anything?"

"Thankfully, no, child. Our finicky feline friend here broke **my **fall."

"And no small matter, that. You're **heavy**!" He paused as her words sunk in. "Who're you calling finicky?"

"Guuuys…." Sabrina gritted. She stood up, rubbing her rear, and took a few test steps. Everything **seemed **to be in working order. The teenage witch sighed again, and made her way to the other staircase, on the opposite side of the room.

Wait a minute…

Sabrina's eyes flitted over the furnishings of the room. Her eyes landed on a wooden mantel clock, placed on a table near the passageway to a door. Picking it up, she stealthily made her way towards the staircase.

She heaved, and then tossed the clock at the middle of the staircase. With a groan, and a _woosh_, the lower half of the staircase collapsed to the ground, revealing a recess in the wall.

"I **knew **the staircases were unstable!" she smirked.

"Talk about your fixer-upper," Salem deadpanned.

"What's in the niche, there?" Leota questioned.

Squinting, Sabrina was able to make out a faint flash of something. She bent to get a closer look. Spiders. Green, large, and much like the fanged one she'd discovered outside. There were three of them, too, crawling onto the floor.

Sabrina immediately began jumping up and down on them—presumably, to flatten the little buggers. "Die, die, DIE!"

"Does she have these spasms often?" murmured Leota.

"More so than you'd think," Salem rolled his eyes.

Once she was done squishing the spiders into goo, Sabrina began to explore the rest of the Foyer. One thing was obvious—there was no light switch on the ground. "Which means it must be on the second floor," Salem sighed.

"Just great." Sabrina felt like bashing her head on the nearest object. She closed her eyes and began to count to ten. _Must not lose temper…is that a clock?_

The slow, steady, even ticking was coming from her right. Upon turning, Sabrina was faced with an antique grandfather clock. As she came nearer, she could obviously tell something was very wrong with it. The clock's face glowed an unearthly shade of green, and both hands pointed to—surprise, surprise—thirteen o'clock.

"Cute," Sabrina grumbled. Peering closely, she realized what really made her worried. The clock was a demon.

Or carved like one, anyway. The top head of the cabinet was carved in such a way that there appeared to be a crest in the middle of the head, with two eyes on either side. The clock face was nestled securely in the gaping, sharp-teethed jaw of the beast, and the crooked, jagged pendulum swinging lazily back and forth was its tongue.

Sabrina shuddered. How awful… "It's horrible," she said out loud and shuddered again. _Why would someone even __**think **__of making such an evil-looking clock?_

Leota chuckled. "You'd better get used to things like these, honey, because they're scattered all **over **the Mansion."

Sabrina looked at the clock in distaste. _And to think I thought this place was impressive…_

"What's in that door?" Salem wondered. "Maybe we can get out of this trap and into another room."

Touching the handle brought the familiar purple electricity back, snapping and crackling across the door. Sabrina sucked on injured fingers. "Guess we haven't solved Thorne's little puzzle yet." She looked around the Foyer, craning her neck to see the second floor. "But as far as I can tell, there's no way up. Even if I stood right in front of those broken stairs and jumped up, I'd never make it. Ditto with trying to climb onto the balcony from one of those end tables."

"How amusing," Salem noted dryly. "We've appeared to have stopped our quest before it really started."

All three members of the party were hushed. No way to continue. How horrible that sounded!

Salem paused, narrowing his eyes. "Hey Leota, is there any ectoplasmic juice in the room?"

Leota looked at him, startled and confused. "Plenty. Why?"

"Can't you do your psychic mumbo-jumbo shtick and talk to one of your ghost buddies or something? You said you can get hints that way, right?"

Sabrina straightened up. Leota grinned. "For a housecat, you can get some pretty good ideas every now and then." Salem puffed up, looking much like a black cotton ball, with pride.

Leota closed her eyes, her crystal ball glowing a strange sea-blue.

"_When the easy way you cannot climb, a crooked path could save you time_."

"What was **that**?" Salem demanded.

Opening her eyes slowly, Leota tipped her head in a way that must have been her equivalent of a shrug. "Sorry, sugar. You take what you get, and the spirits aren't always willing to elaborate."

"Don't call me sugar," Salem whimpered sulkily, as Sabrina began to ponder the cryptic couplet.

_Okay, okay… 'The easy way' obviously means the stairs…so what's this about a 'crooked path'? 'A crooked path' sounds like going into another room and coming back later, or going up in some weird way…But we've already ruled out all these possibilities. What could it mean?_

A wave of hopelessness washed over Sabrina as she turned in a circle, gazing at all angles of the Foyer. No enemies. No light switch. No way out.

She could always go back to the Great Hall or the Séance Room, and escape from there…but what kind of rescuer would she be?

The terrified man in the Great Hall...the ghosts who had lost their memories…would they be trapped in their worries and troubles forever if she left? What would happen to this place if Thorne took over? It was something that Sabrina didn't even want to think about.

So she would give it another try.

All right, what **was **there on the first floor? The door to her right that was sealed. The broken staircases dead center in the room, and the door they guarded that was, as yet, untried. The door in and out of the house was to her back, and the door to the Great Hall to her left. Plenty of paintings on the wall, as well as a grand chandelier above her.

Walking around, Sabrina began to examine everything. Even the smallest thing might hold a clue to getting them to the switch. The paintings were mostly of sea- and landscapes. As she neared the door to the Great Hall, the painting on her immediate left caught her eye. And the painting—hanging crookedly on the wall—was of a trail, leading into a desolate, sparsely wooded area, winding and turning at random.

"Guys?" Sabrina called as she stepped closer.

"Uh—yeah?"

"Hang on." Sabrina touched the frame of the large painting.

It seemed like the world was twisting in upon her, and then like a huge vacuum was pulling at her entire body. Sabrina screamed and took a step backwards, but she felt herself pulled, drawn like a metal tool to a magnet.

When the rushing sensation stopped, and Leota and Salem stopped screaming, Sabrina realized with fresh horror that she was **inside **the painting. The sky stretched over her, bleak and gray, while the path led into a very sparsely wooded area, beckoning her silently.

Sabrina shivered, trying to remind herself that this was just canvas and oil paint. But the slight wind whistling through the stunted trees and faded grass **felt **real enough… Biting her lip, Sabrina ran forward, following the dirt trail.

Sabrina's eyes widened as, in the distance, she could see what looked like a dark postage stamp. _Maybe that's our way out!_ Running for it, the dark splotch grew larger and clearer. It was a view of the Foyer!

Sabrina added a second burst of speed, and made a jump as she reached the very threshold of the 'portal.' Reality seemed to flicker back into focus as Sabrina jumped out of a painting of a lonely dirt path leading away from some trees, onto the second floor.

She panted, leaning on the balustrade, trying to both calm herself and catch her breath. A squeaking to her right disclosed another of the poisonous-looking spiders. Sabrina growled and stomped it flat.

Holding her hand to her heart (trying to stop the rushing sensation thrumming throughout her body), Sabrina began walking towards the back wall. A slight chill blew through the air, and she gripped the Beacon even tighter.

The same hideous ghosts from the Great Hall swarmed at her, clawed hands outstretched. Sabrina shook one shoulder upward, trying to dislodge the cat. "Salem! Jump loose and head for the switch!"

The cat leaped in one fluid motion to the floor, unnoticed by the specters. _Okay, light switch, light switch…_

The focal point of the back wall was a large painting—of what, he couldn't tell, because it was too dark to see—with a faintly glowing white switch next to it. Salem approached it, and then paused.

_It doesn't __**feel **__right…_ Turning his head, Salem noticed a second faint glowing, this time on the platform the staircases led to.

"SALEM!" Sabrina yelped, trying to fight off three ghosts at once. She was ducking their swipes, trying to blast them at close range.

Leaping to the switch, Salem suddenly skidded. Another ghost was gliding up the staircase, towards him! _Exit, stage left!_

"SALEM! WHAT'S WITH THE HOLDUP?" Sabrina shrieked.

Gritting his teeth, Salem jumped forward again, seizing the switch in his jaws. Tugging, he activated it. With a flicker, the chandelier's lights blossomed, and the ghosts fizzled away. The staircases slowly arose from the ground, and with a _ka-shunk_, re-attached themselves to the landing.

Sabrina sighed with relief as she relaxed her arms, letting the Beacon dangle by her side. Grinning, she flipped a braid over one shoulder. "What took you so long, you fraidy-cat?"

Salem jutted his chin out. "Nothing."

Sabrina shook her head, smirking, as she walked nearer to him. The same light switch Salem had been eying caught Sabrina's attention. "Leota, what's this? It looks like a switch, but it didn't activate the lights…" She paused, eying the dusty picture of a sour-faced, white-haired man directly next to it.

Leota frowned as she examined it. "I…don't know. It looks like something Thorne and his henchmen—the Order of Shadows—would use, but I have no idea how to activate it. Maybe we can figure out a use for it later…"

Sabrina shrugged as she began prowling among the pieces of furniture to see if she could find anything useful. She turned around, from her position at the end of the balcony, to call out to Salem, who was searching the rest of the landing. "You guys find anything else?"

"This," Salem mumbled around a piece of parchment paper in his mouth. Gingerly, Sabrina took it, noting the familiar texture.

"This is another piece of that Death Certificate we found earlier," she realized. Sabrina shuddered. "Okay, maybe it's me, but it's still really creepy holding the memories of somebody's death."

"It's probably just you," Salem nodded. Sabrina's boot conveniently found itself on the very tip of his tail, just enough to smart. The cat yelped and Sabrina snickered as she headed off.

Descending the staircase on the right side, Sabrina walked over to examine the tables and chairs on either side of the doorway (apparently the door leading to the Downstairs Hallway, according to Leota).

"Whoa-ho-ho!" a voice boomed from overhead. Turning around and up, Sabrina realized there was a ghost—a rotund man in a morning coat and Dickens-era top hat—on the chandelier. "It's amazing! I'm so high up!" He chuckled again. "One slip and I'm a goner!"

Leota grinned. "Old Pickwick…what a character. He never did understand why the Master frowned on his climbing objects while intoxicated."

"Are they **all **going to ignore us?" Sabrina muttered.

"If we're lucky," Salem sighed.

As they headed to the door on the first floor marked 'Conservatory,' Sabrina remembered to touch the door handle. The barrier melted away and they stepped in.

Pickwick swung around on the chandelier, admiring the view. "It's like I've died and become a ghost!" he chortled.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

The chandelier ghost's name **is **actually Pickwick. Apparently, he is one of only two ghosts (he and Madame Leota) who have actual names that were decided on by Disney Imagineers. Apparently, he received his name because of his Dickens-era appearance.

Most of the chapter titles in the story are from the Nancy Drew mystery series. I usually like using titles of Nancy Drew books as titles, since I'm a huge Nancy Drew fan (and they were the first mysteries I started reading!)

Next chapter: The gang gets to rock out in the Conservatory, but the appearance of a disturbing book causes a sour note among the fun. Break out the cowbells, because things are about to get creepy.


	5. Music of the Night

The Conservatory was dimly lit, as faint moonlight filtered in at the far end of the room. Sabrina blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dimness. _When did it become night?_ A large glass dome-like window covered the far end of the room, where the pale blue light shone on a dusty piano, with pieces of sheet music scattered everywhere.

It was too dark to make out the rest of the room's furnishings, but there appeared to be a desk about ten feet in front of her, covered with books and other items. A 'welcoming committee' of clawed ghosts swirled out of the air in front of her, arms outstretched to attack.

Sabrina momentarily panicked, then regained her composure and began showering bursts of light in a wide arc until she could be absolutely certain that the specters were gone. _I guess I'm getting used to this thing much quicker than I'd believed. It's not that hard once you figure out the trick to it—it's like casting a spell, but using a different energy source than your own magic. _ Looking around, Sabrina squinted, trying to make out the location of the switch. Maybe it was near the door, she guessed. As she turned, she nearly crashed into something tall and heavy.

Sabrina let out a strangled scream as she stumbled back. _Oh dear God, please don't let it be Thorne!_

She dropped to the ground, instantly wrapping her arms over her head. Her hands trembled, the Beacon banging lightly against her ear. When nothing ripped her head off, she dared to turn her head upwards and look.

On a lectern maybe five feet tall was propped an open book. _Reminds me of the magic book back home…_ Sabrina wasn't sure if the similarity to her own magic textbook was what prompted her to look at it, or maybe just the curiosity to see what kind of books existed in this place, but she was not sorry afterwards.

As she touched the book, it seemed to flip open almost of its own accord. The pages slid smoothly to fall open at one particular entry. Sabrina cast a basic 'glow-spell,' gathering energy at the tip of her finger and creating a small light enough to read by. _I shouldn't create these too much—I don't want Thorne to know where we are by tracking down my magical energy. _As she bent down to squint at the text, Sabrina could almost imagine a voice narrating the cramped, handwritten text. A cold, dry, sardonic voice, made bitter by endless years…

_Tome of Shadows_

_Volume I_

_Page 734_

_Years have passed since our defeat. But we do not sleep yet, and the plague has proven quite effective at reducing the Brotherhood's number. Folly it was to believe we were no longer a threat and to lower their defenses. For, as the shadows crawl eastward from the setting sun, so too does the reach of the order—extending to encircle the globe._

_A. Thorne_

_Grand Master_

_The Order of Shadows_

_October 31st, 1349 A.D._

Salem snorted. "Power trip."

Sabrina frowned, running a finger over the date of the entry. "Salem, it says 1349."

Salem tossed his head in airy unconcern. "So? …Oh…" His eyes widened as he realized the full import of the date. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Unless there are two men named Atticus Thorne at the head of the Order of Shadows—which I **highly** doubt—this can mean only one thing." Sabrina slowly let go of the book, extinguishing the glow-spell. "Atticus Thorne is a witch, like me."

Leota blinked. "Pardon?"

"That's the only explanation for the book being written in the 14th century, and for him to be still alive in the 20th century, today. It's the only explanation of how he could have obtained the power to…to do whatever he's done to this place." She sighed, raising a hand to her forehead and rubbing it. "The abnormally long lifespan, summoning some demons, raising energy barriers, placing curses…it all fits."

"Great." Salem seemed to deflate from his perch at her feet. "Just great."

"You're telling me." She smacked her forehead in frustration. Turning around to begin searching the room, she found herself facing a second wave of ghosts. "My day just keeps getting better, huh?" Doubly frustrated, Sabrina began blasting them with no abandon. It was when she spotted the small wave of spiders inching towards her that she…as in Salem's terminology, 'went postal.'

It was only when Leota and Salem began screaming at her to stop that Sabrina realized she'd been shrieking and spraying the room with blasts of light energy.

Rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, Sabrina scooted to the corners of the room to investigate.

Walking towards the far end of the room, Sabrina made her way to the dusty, moonlit piano. She casually flipped through the various pieces of sheet music laid across the instrument. "Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Wagner…" she murmured. "The classics, of course." As she was examining another sheet to determine the composer, she stopped.

Something orange—with way too many legs—was edging along the far left side of the window, and then crawled out of view.

Sabrina bit her lip, and immersed herself in safely placing the sheet of paper back on the piano. "Hey, Leota," she called, trying to distract herself, "how 'bout you ask your ghost buddies for a hint?"

Leota sighed. "You're the detective, shouldn't _you_ be finding the hints?" she muttered. When she received no response, she closed her eyes, focusing on the invisible web of spiritual energy permeating the room.

"_To reach those heights, you'll need a hand; to get some help, just join the band."_

_What heights?_ Almost instinctively, she craned her head backwards and looked to the higher corners of the room. There were darker shadows, which could probably be balconies, she guessed.

"What band?" groused Salem. "That's the trouble with these ghostly hints—they're never specific when you need them to be."

Leota sighed. "Like I said before, **she's** the detective, so **she** needs to decipher the clues, not me."

Ignoring the conversation that was taking place behind her, Sabrina bit her lip, absent-mindedly tracing patterns in the dust on the top of the piano. _Okay, girl, think. 'Join the band.' Band…what band? Come on—there has to be something in this room that would tie in with 'band.' Band…music…um…_

Sabrina's hand brushed against a piece of sheet music laying on the piano. The paper floated softly off the hardwood surface, ghosted along her skirt, and fell gently on top of her boots. Almost mechanically, she bent and retrieved the errant document.

With a start, she realized what she was holding. _Sheet music! For an instrument! THAT was what they must have meant!_

Eagerly, she plopped onto the piano stool, and hesitantly opened the cover. The ivory keys, stained a pale yellow with age, sat in a smooth row, at attention, almost. Although Aunt Hilda's forte was the violin, she had carefully taught Sabrina a few pieces of piano music over the summer.

Gently, Sabrina's fingers plunked out the melody of one of her favorite songs. Carefully (she was NOT the best singer in the world, unlike Salem, who crooned to himself whilst he preened in the mirror), she began to sing along.

"Say you'll share with me one love…one lifetime…say the word, and I will follow you…" she tapered off, her throat burning from trying to match the pitches. _Sarah Brightman makes this sound SO easy…_

Salem coughed. "Nice…"

Leota briefly considered rolling the crystal ball over his tail, but dismissed it as too much effort.

However, as if the music had awakened some latent spirit inside the instrument, a gentle, tinkling harmony flowed out of the piano. Sabrina sat, spellbound and delighted by the music.

"It's like having one of those player pianos, but not actually," she giggled, relaxing for a brief moment.

"Sa-Sabrina…you…might want to look at this," Salem stuttered from behind her.

Her grin replaced with a quizzical frown, the witch spun around on the stool to see…

Floating books. Lots of them.

"Oh, wow." Sabrina blinked.

"This can't be good," Leota mumbled.

"I didn't do it! For once!" Salem bleated.

Sabrina slowly rose off the stool, and hesitantly approached the books. The books swarmed around her in a cloud, before settling into a platform by her feet.

"Sabrina, I don't think that's such a great idea," Salem whimpered.

"Just relax," she told him evenly. "Let me try this." Carefully, Sabrina swung her foot onto the book-platform. She cautiously pressed her weight upon it. It held. Letting her other foot join the first, she pressed again. The platform held as firmly as before. Shrugging, she stepped forward.

More books flew to make a staircase of sorts in the air. With sudden, reckless abandon, Sabrina sprang forward. As she jumped from book to book, Sabrina found herself laughing, while Leota and Salem watched open-mouthed.

_I never thought I'd say this, but this is fun!_

The curving trail ended at a platform along the one wall. Reluctantly, Sabrina stepped onto the solid stone surface and looked around. She noticed a violin lying on a table at the far end. Carefully, she made her way over to it, and gently picked it up.

Sabrina had never actually learned how to actually **play** the violin, despite Aunt Hilda being a violin instructor, but she knew to hold the instrument and the bow, and at least play the scales. Tucking it under her chin, she picked up the bow and laid it across the strings. She gently pulled it across and back, slowly starting up the scale.

An image of Aunt Hilda, playing the same instrument, flashed across her mind. _Will I ever see Aunt Hilda again?_

As her eyelids fluttered down, a single teardrop slid from her eye. She was too preoccupied to notice a steel spiral staircase unwind from the floor and attach itself to the platform. She didn't notice the violin began to play of its own accord, a soft, sad melody rippling from its strings.

She DID notice the three squeaking spiders on the ground, however.

Screaming, Sabrina flew down the staircase to squish them under her black boots. "DIE!" she screamed, forgetting to blast them with the Beacon.

Salem's eye twitched. "That's it. When we get back, she is going on Prozac."

Her rage fueled by the arachnids, Sabrina flung herself at the ghosts materializing from the ceiling and drifting downwards.

"You know, I almost feel sorry for Thorne when I think about what he's got himself into," Leota grinned, watching the blonde hurl spheres of light at the specters.

"Almost," Salem drawled as he stretched and curled up around the ball. No matter **where** one was, it always behooved one to take a brief, refreshing nap.

Leota chuckled, and swiveled around to track the girl's progress. Sabrina had climbed the stairs back up, and was maneuvering another flying book path across the room. This one was a bit trickier, Leota surmised, with moving platforms and books that suddenly dropped out from under your feet.

Sabrina leaped onto the opposite platform, wiping some sweat from her eyes. "It's a good thing I spent so many hours playing _Super Mario_," she grinned, "because I never thought I'd encounter a platform game in real life."

She paused and looked down. A spider was trying to wiggle its way up her boot, with two more of its friends waiting next to it. The blood drained from her face.

Salem briefly opened his eyes, and then shut them as Sabrina screamed and began stomping more vigorously than before. Leota yawned while the Spirit Detective began flailing wildly.

Finally, the evil spiders had met a rather painful demise.

Sabrina blinked, faced with a rather large cello propped in the corner. "Okay, I have absolutely NO idea how to do this," she groaned, rubbing the back of her head.

"Try it the same way as the violin," offered Leota.

Maneuvering herself behind the behemoth, Sabrina squatted. _I feel like an idiot._ She began to slowly work the bow across the strings like the violin, and was relieved to hear an up-tempo, almost jazz-like tune pour forth.

A matching staircase on the other side of the room wound its way to the library platform above it. The enchanted books flew across to form a final path. This one was more complicated, with a flurry of books moving like a curtain that she had to dodge. Once she leaped onto the final platform, she sighed with relief to see the light switch just within reach.

Lamps attached to the ceiling flickered, then burst into light. Oddly, the otherworldly music slowed and faded away. Two spiral staircases sprung from the sides of this platform, which was actually above the door. Puffing her chest out with pride, Sabrina made her way triumphantly down the stairs.

A small army of spiders was scurrying across the floor. "SPIDERS!" Sabrina screamed, blasting away with the Beacon.

Leota and Salem laughed nervously as she prowled around the room, searching the furniture. A scrap of paper fluttered from the last vase she checked, and Sabrina quickly scooped it up.

Fascinated, she watched as the pieces seemed to fuse together, and she could make out a picture. "Leota, what's this?" she asked, bringing the piece of paper to the psychic.

The square of paper showed a man dressed like a character from _Gone with the Wind_. Clenching a pistol in his fist, he was peering around a curtain, a look of complete suspicion and determination etched on his face. A door in the background was flung wide open, white light illuminating a dark figure with an outstretched pistol.

Leota sighed. "That's Colonel Sartoris' Death Certificate, all right. These show their memories of how they died," she explained, in a gentle tone.

Sabrina's lip quivered briefly. "So he was shot from behind. How horrible…" her voice trailed away in contemplation.

Leota sighed again. "He's an honorable one, all right…never could stand any form of injustice, or went against his honor code." She set her jaw. "**HE** would never have shot an opponent from behind."

Sabrina's fists clenched for a moment, and she angrily finished collecting the wayward spirits that remained.

The odor of decay slipped out of the room, and suddenly, five ghosts materialized in the middle of the room.

"Hey, fellas? FELLAS?" a ghost holding a trumpet exclaimed in a nasal tone. "Can we try it again?"

"Aye!" A potbellied ghost carrying bagpipes agreed. "Le's start o'er, lads."

"What about the cow bells?" whined a third carrying a harp. "I think there should be more cow bells."

The ghost to his right, dressed like Paul Revere, nodded, jabbing his fife in the harpist's direction. "I'm with him. It could use more cow bells."

"All right then, let's start from the top," boomed the ghost at the head of the ring. He picked up his drum, attached it to his straps, and began a steady beat. "Tap your feet if you can't get into the rhythm!" he reminded them.

"Such a strange song," mused Sabrina, listening to the slightly eerie song drifting from the musicians.

Salem yawned, stretched, and leaped onto her shoulder. "When's naptime?" he murmured before settling into the bag with Leota.

Sabrina shook her head, laughter bubbling gently out of her throat.

_Time to face the next room…_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yes, I'm quite a fan of Phantom the Opera. (Fans of it will notice the little references in this chapter. I thought it was only fitting, being a music room.)

And Sabrina's arachnophobia is, indeed, being exploited for comedic purposes.

The six main ghosts that we're talking about-Leota's friends-weren't given actual names in the video game, just titles. I thought that was silly, so they will have actual names here.


	6. Never Say Die

As the door of the Conservatory feel shut behind her, Sabrina suddenly felt a slight wave of exhaustion trickle down her back, ending at her ankles. _Fighting all these stupid ghosts and spiders is starting to take its toll on me…_

"And why _are_ there so many spiders, anyway?" she grumbled as she slid onto the floor for a brief rest. "It's ridiculous. You wouldn't think there would be this many of them in one single house."

"And why wouldn't there be?" Leota challenged. "It isn't like there's been anyone around to clean up around here, or hire an exterminator. The house has been vacated of human presence for...120 years, in about two weeks."

"Halloween?" A small shiver ran down Sabrina's back. "That's harsh. Having such a sad anniversary on such a great day…"

It appeared that she'd said something wrong, as a deep frown immediately etched itself onto the psychic's face. "What's so great about it?" snapped Leota.

"Halloween's great," said Sabrina dreamily. For a moment, she become lost in reverie, ignoring Leota's irritated countenance. "There are parties, with tons of great food, and you wear ceremonial robes, and everyone gives presents…"

"For witches, it's like Christmas," Salem hastened to explain. "It's essentially the celebration of magic itself. When witches and other beings from the Other Realm moved to the Mortal Realm, they incorporated it into the human's annual harvest celebrations."

Leota scowled. "Informative story. But still…I detest it." _I will always hate that day…_ "We should keep moving," she snapped, seemingly unwilling to offer an explanation for her previous statement.

Although Sabrina protested at first, Salem backed Leota up. The familiar didn't want to spend more time in the Mansion than was necessary. Pouting, the blonde ascended the staircase, noting the soft, plush feel of the carpeted steps beneath her feet. _This place would make a great hotel…if it weren't haunted…_

As she stood at the top of the stairs, Leota directed her to the door to the girl's immediate right, explaining that it was the Game Room. "All right, pool!" Salem crowed.

"Billiards," Sabrina explained at Leota's confused look.

"No, no, I understand the nickname, it's just…" Leota paused and whispered, "He can play pool?"

Sabrina laughed, for after all, they were talking about a cat that could type on the computer (with a pencil held in his mouth), talk on the phone, eat ice cream (when her aunts weren't home), and even drive that adorable little red toy car of his. And this same cat had once been a formidable warlock who had lived (more or less) like an ordinary man. Billiards and squash were two of Salem's greatest passions from his bipedal days. "Well, a long time ago, at least," she replied. Leota blinked, in either surprise or confusion.

Still chuckling slightly at the mental image of Salem (as a cat) trying to play pool, Sabrina quickly stepped forward to break the barrier on the Game Room. She pushed the door open and stepped in.

Paneled in a warm, light brown wood, the Game Room bore the air of a turn-of-the-century men's lodge. A poker table was to her right, and a blackjack table to her left. Further into the room was a large pool table, illuminated by the two windows on the far right wall and back wall. Smaller tables and a few armchairs were scattered here and there, and dartboards hung next to old-fashioned photographs of groups of men, posing stiffly for the camera.

Sabrina whipped out the Beacon, ready for the cavalcade of ghosts and spiders that she knew would soon appear. _This is getting a little formulaic..._

A faint chill spread through the air, and a small group of squeaking spiders scuttled across the floor, with ghosts materializing out of wisps of smoke in the air. Sabrina fired away on the Beacon, blasting the spiders with a vengeance. She smiled with relief when the small horde of enemies vanished. _I'm getting pretty good at this, if I do say so myself…_

Letting her arm drop to her side with a sigh, Sabrina cautiously inched forward, eyes darting around for the switch. _I don't get it…where __**is**__ it? Where could it be?_

Intent on discovering the location of the light source, she failed to notice the dark shape attached to the window nearest her.

"Sa…Sabrina…" Salem whimpered. "Sabrina…"

"What?" she sighed, slightly irritated at being disturbed. The cat whimpered, gesturing with his head towards her right, before slowly backing away. Sabrina paused, and slowly swung to face the window.

_What's there?_

Nothing.

With a terrific smashing sound, a large…**thing**…flung itself through the window, broken glass flying like snow flurries. Sabrina shrieked, and shielded herself from the flying glass, but not before she stepped backwards.

Shivering, she dropped her arms to stare at the thing. It was a spider, of the demon variety. At least six or seven feet long, a hideous mottled orange with black spots, and clumps of hair sprouting from its legs in patches. It had at least a dozen bright, beady black eyes, and a pair of clicking pincers the size of her forearm.

_I hate spiders…I **really** hate spiders…spiders are horrible…_

"SABRINA!" Salem screamed as he grabbed a loop of the backpack in his teeth, and dashed under a poker table, cowering in a furry black ball.

Sabrina grabbed the Beacon, and began firing at the behemoth, arms shaking, and bursts of light ricocheting off walls, the broken window, and occasionally hitting the spider.

It clicked its jaws, and began shooting a white substance at Sabrina. When the…well, whatever it was…touched her leg, she screamed. It was wet. It was faintly warm. It was very sticky. _Is this what Spiderman swings from?_ She briefly wondered, dazed.

The spider began moving towards her, dragging the web-like substance in, like a fisherman and his net. The girl screamed, clawing at the floor as the creature dragged her across the floor, towards it.

_I do NOT want to be eaten by a disgusting SPIDER! And on my first case, too! Talk about embarrassing! This floor is filthy—my petticoats are probably getting covered in dust and dirt. I don't care what anybody says, this is a cute outfit, and I will not let it be ruined by a stupid SPIDER!_

Her lip curled into a sneer, and she tightened her grip on the Beacon.

The spider, comprehending that its prey had gone limp, concluded that it was wounded, and thus unable to defend itself. Unfortunately, the arachnid was of insufficient intelligence to fathom Sabrina's hatred for "those eight-legged freaks," as she had once delicately put it.

Screaming in defiance, she lifted the Beacon and began firing bursts of energy into the creature's gaping maw. The Beacon's bursts of light were strong enough to dissolve the web, enabling the Detective to spring backwards and keep firing. One shot—be it through luck or some semblance of skill—punched through the back of the creature's mouth.

The spider emitted a high-pitched squeal before its body caved in on itself, and it rolled over onto its back. Slowly, the body began to decompose into ash. Sabrina watched the process incredulously.

The very air stood still. The pile of ashes that had once been a ferocious arachnid neither moved nor reformed. Finally, with a sight of relief, Sabrina sank onto her knees. "Oh, God," she moaned.

Salem leapt out from under the table, and bounded into her lap, carefully placing his paws on her shoulders, and licked her cheek. The Spirit Detective scooped the kitty up, cradling him against her body.

"That was SO cool, Sabs!" Salem's golden eyes bulged with excitement and fascination. "Like in _Resident Evil!_"

"Let's hope there aren't any zombies," Sabrina groaned, "or I swear I will track down another one of those spiders, nail it in a crate, and FedHex it to Drell."

"Is it gone?" Leota quavered from within the backpack.

"I would imagine so," Sabrina replied grimly, putting Salem down onto a nearby table. She opened the backpack, pulling out Leota's ball, and placed it next to him. _And I can only pray that there won't be any more…surprises…like that spider._

"What are you worried about?" Salem scoffed. "You're **dead**. You don't **need** to worry about being ripped limb from limb by a man-eating spider."

"Good thing I'm a girl and he's a cat," Sabrina chuckled darkly, under her breath.

Leota, who had not heard Sabrina's comment, directed her attention to the cat. "I may not be alive any more," she snapped, "but if my crystal ball breaks, then anything could happen—I could be pulled into the afterlife, turn into a fixated ghost, or even have my soul destroyed."

Salem flinched.

Sabrina decided to ignore her companions, and moved towards the center of the room, fixated upon finding the light switch.

But still…nothing was there. The only thing occupying the room was the pool table. Sabrina sighed, and moved towards it. _Is the light switch hidden around the pool table? Maybe inside of it?_

A slight flash caught her eye. The cue ball gleamed innocently, faintly glowing. Moving closer, her heartbeat raced. _Is it the switch? Could the spider have been the room's 'puzzle?'_ Slowly, she reached out and picked up the cue ball from the table. She paused, holding it in her hand. Nothing happened.

Then the same rushing sensation from the cursed painting in the Foyer overwhelmed her senses again. This time, though, she was compressed from all sides, weights pushing every molecule of her into herself. Her lungs were compressed; she couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. The room swirled before her eyes and dissolved into darkness.

The tsunami of pressure abruptly faded, and Sabrina realized that she was standing upright on something. Black spots swam throughout her vision, and when they cleared, she could see that she was standing on something green. _The room didn't have a green carpet, nor am I outside…where AM I?_

She backed up, into something hard and cold. With a screech, she whirled around. It was a pool ball, maybe seven feet tall, cold and intimidating and MUCH bigger than her.

Whipping her head in all directions, the Detective came to her most brilliant deduction yet: "**I SHRUNK!**"

Indeed, the Spirit Detective was standing on the pool table, to which she had been miniaturized and placed upon. "This isn't fair!" she screamed into the darkness, to no one in particular. "You never said anything about shrinking me!"

As if in answer to her outburst, a giant pair of white-gloved hands appeared. Not a body: just the hands. White and ghostly, hovering in the air. The hands scared her more than the miniaturization process. The hands picked up what appeared to be a pool stick—and aimed the cue right at Sabrina.

As the white ball shot at the black-clad girl, she turned on her heels and ran. The cue ricocheted off the 7-ball, and knocked it away from the side, smacking into the 4-ball, and rolling to a halt only scant inches from the corner pocket.

Sabrina panted, hoping that the hands would knock the ball into the pocket, and forget about her. Unfortunately, the hands aimed yet again.

Scurrying to avoid the cue, she nearly smacked into the 8-ball, sitting like a lustrous black pearl in the midst of the gaily-colored pool balls. Gasping for breath, she turned to the rim of the table, and began scrambling up onto the side.

I hope it doesn't suddenly decide to attack me over here…

She gulped, sitting, and trying to calm herself down. The hands continued with their game, staying on the opposite side of the table from her. Silently, the same familiar ghosts that greeted her in every room rose from the pocket hole she sat next to.

After blasting them away, Sabrina paused to weigh her options. _No telling how much longer those ghosts will be coming after me—but those hands are going to keep trying to play 'Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom' if I stay on the table._ Her eyes narrowed. _Wait! Maybe that's it! Maybe we just need to finish the game!_

With renewed energy, Sabrina leapt from her perch onto the table. It was a simple matter to run in front of a ball, and then step out of the way of the cue, she found. Slowly, but surely, every ball was sunk into the pockets.

Finally, the 8-ball rolled majestically to a corner pocket, and plopped in. With that, a small switch materialized in the middle of the table. Sabrina decided to take no chances on this one. She dashed forward, flipping the switch with what might be deemed more force than necessary.

Salem and Leota, who had been staring at the pool table since Sabrina's disappearance, grinned as the small shaded lamps scattered throughout the room flickered on, bathing the room in a warm honey glow.

Sabrina tried not to scream as wind swirled around her and whistled sharply in her ears. She was hauled in every direction at once, and her head was splitting. When the fluid settled in her ears, Sabrina realized she was standing _next_ to the pool table, next to the cue ball, which she must have dropped.

Babbling incoherently, Salem shot off the table, and snuggled her feet. Slightly dazed, she stooped, picked him up, and began cuddling him. "And you were standing there, and then you were go-**one**!" he wailed.

"Aw, c'mon," she murmured softly, "I'm okay." She cuddled him for a moment longer, then gently put him down. She sighed deeply, rubbing the back of her neck, when she slowly pulled her hand away, aware of something strange.

The hairs on the back of Sabrina's neck prickled as she could _feel_ the ectoplasmic energy coagulate in the center of the room, not far from where she stood.

Before her very eyes, a ghost formed, pale blue and pearly white. The Duelist was dressed straight out of _Gone with the Wind_, complete with mutton-chop whiskers and a pistol. He stepped forward, twirling his revolver around on one finger. "Well, Detective, Ah kin see yew've bin doin' yer job," he noted in a thick Southern drawl.

Sabrina nodded, trying to acknowledge his compliment, and not stare at his pistol. _If a ghost fires a ghost pistol, can it kill a living person?_ "Uh…thanks."

"The name's Sartoris…**Colonel** Sartoris, that is. Is there any way Ah could help yew, ma'am?"

"Um…well…" she started lamely. "Oh!" Sabrina gasped in realization, "I have something for you!"

She fished around in her backpack, feeling a stab of guilt. _This is horrible—but if these ghosts can't accept their deaths, they'll be doomed to this hell on earth for eternity._

Sartoris frowned as he watched the girl draw out a small scrap of yellowed paper and offer it to him. "What's this?" he muttered with a frown. "Mah…Death Certificate?" He carefully studied the drawing, brows drawing together in fury.

"That backstabbin', cheatin', lyin' sonova…" he trailed off when he remembered the ladies in his presence. "Mah apologies, ma'am," he sheepishly bowed to Sabrina.

He then paused, eyes shifting to take in every crevice of the room. "He could be anywhere...waitin'…" Sabrina quickly decided that if he had been alive right now, the Colonel's eyes would have been glazed over.

"He's upstairs…yeah, that's it…he's a-waitin' fer me…" He clutched his pistol protectively now, his eyes going back and forth like Ping-Pong balls now.

"Uh…hello?" Sabrina tentatively asked. _The last thing I want to do is become caught in the middle of a Southern shootout…and he looks fairly trigger-happy…_

Sartoris blinked at her, and seemed to lose some of his paranoia. Only some, however. "Eh, right," he muttered. "Ah'm s'posed to give yew this here Soul Gem."

He held out his hand, and a bright violet light shone from his palm. The light twinkled brilliantly, until it coalesced into a brilliantly hued gem, no larger than Sabrina's palm. She gasped in delight as she stared at it. The gem was a sparkling amethyst color, with deeper hues of purple that shimmered as the honey-colored lamplight struck it.

Sabrina accepted it, carefully wedging the gem into the next empty slot on the Beacon. "That thar gem strengthens the Beacon's energy," he casually added. The Southern gentleman twirled his pistol, gaze nervously flying across the room. "Ah reckon yew'd best leave a'fore the lead starts flyin'," he grunted.

Sabrina sweated nervously as she began packing the party up. "On that note," she blinked, swinging her backpack onto her back, "we shall take our leave."

Colonel Sartoris watched as the black-clad slip of a girl strode out of the room confidently, while two pairs of eyes—one amber, the other dark blue—stared at him from the cloth gunnysack she carried on her back.

_I don't know as I reckon if that there little lady could possibly be strong enough to defeat Thorne…_ He twirled his pistol thoughtfully. _And that dishonorable whelp of a warlock done gone and killed some of the best of 'em._

He looked at the scrap of paper she had handed him, again, studying the picture informing of his demise. _I never thought it could have ended like that…I knew he was a scalawag, but that rapscallion done gone and PROVED it. Shot in the back…and I wanted to die honorably…_

His eyes narrowed briefly as he studied the paper. Slowly, the pieces of a puzzle, something that had been plaguing him since his death, came together. _But now that I done thought 'bout it, that must be the reason why I'm here. After all, I died eleven years before Thorne came here…_

His lips thinned. _Of all the dishonorable things that a man can go and do, this has to be one of the worst. I never knew vengeance could go so far…_

* * *

Oooh! What could be the reason that Sartoris (and I'll give out a hint—the other ghosts, too) is here? We'll find out later… (The colonel's name, by the way, pays homage to the works of Southern novelist William Faulkner.)

"FedHex" is a creation of the Sabrina book series—the Other Realm's version of FedEx. Keep your eyes peeled for random references!

Yes, Salem can do a plethora of unusual things, like type on the computer (he hits keys with a pencil that he grips in his mouth).

Next chapter: In the Kitchen, there must have been one heck of a fight, because the dishes are STILL flying. Sabrina encounters a Lost Soul, and Salem discovers why the alcoves in the hallways are boarded up…


	7. A Taste of Danger

Sabrina exited into the almost-cheery warmth of the Foyer. Its bright, plush interior was a welcome relief from the room she'd just been in. As she stood at the hub between the two staircases, she paused to catch her breath. _The Foyer is, after all, one of the few 'safe' rooms. …As long as those brainwashed ghosts stay away. I hope._

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to think of what to do next. "Leota, should we try the other doors on this balcony?"

"I wouldn't try it," Leota responded dryly. "The aura emitted from behind those doors was very strong. I don't think we should even give them a second thought until later."

"She's right," Salem concurred. "Whatever's behind those doors must be too strong for us—at least now. Downstairs seems to be our only option."

"Why Salem, you actually agreed with me," Leota gasped in mock-astonishment. "What is the world coming to?"

"Don't get used to it," the black cat muttered.

Sabrina rolled her eyes at her companions as she descended the staircase. _Why do I have the urge to slide down the railing? _She paused, and grinned. _Couldn't hurt._

With a whoop, the Detective mounted the rail, and pushed off. She shrieked with laughter as the wind whistled by her ears. She landed in a most un-ladylike manner at the foot of the stairs, in a heap of crinkled-up petticoats and faintly unraveling braids. Sabrina couldn't contain the laughter bubbling up her throat. She lay in a heap and giggled while Salem yowled in protest, and Leota demanded to know what was going on.

When she finally calmed down, she stood up and straightened her skirt, resisting the urge to point a mirror into existence to check her hair. _I can't be using magic for petty purposes right now._

Salem scowled—as well as a cat can, anyway—and demanded, "What were you just doing?"

Sabrina gave him an impish grin. "Having a bit of fun."

Leota chuckled. "Don't worry, Salem, it's perfectly harmless. And besides, too many frights in one night can drive even the toughest investigator out of their skin—metaphorically speaking, of course, but in this house one does wonder…"

Sabrina had reassembled herself, and started for the door nestled between the stairs. It turned out to be the door leading to the Downstairs Hallway, as Leota informed them a moment later. She reached out for the door handle, pleased when the purple electricity melted away.

Her first thought upon entry was that it was dark and cold. The wallpaper in the hallway was some sort of shade of blue or purple, but it was impossible to tell which one in the dimmed light. The dark wooden floor underneath her feet was smothered in a layer of dust. Rugs in shades of subdued browns and tans lay roughly every six feet, their own colors warped under the dust.

Sabrina craned her head, wondering where she could find a switch for the hallway. _Not to the left, nor in front of me…_

…_**Sabrina…**_

Out of the corner of her eye, the Spirit Detective could see a wisp of a white shape—vaguely human-like—flit down the hallway to her right. Her heart leaped, pounding in double-time. Sabrina felt her throat go dry.

"What was that?" whispered Salem.

"I don't know…it doesn't feel right," Leota murmured.

Sabrina didn't seem to be listening to her companions. Her pupils shrank; eyes focusing on something that could not be heard or felt. She began walking in the direction the…thing… had fled.

Before them was a stretch of hallway, with a few doors that faintly shimmered with violet electricity. On either side of the hallway, at intervals, were doors, with boards tacked over them haphazardly. The hallway ended in shadows, quiet and brooding.

Sabrina began walking quietly down the hallway. "The room we're looking for is most likely the Kitchen," Leota mused. "It's the second door on the right."

Salem, however, couldn't keep his eyes off the boarded-up areas. What are they? Doors? Alcoves?

"Hey, Leota, what're these?" The cat jabbed with his tail at the nearest boarded-up area.

Leota pursed her lips. "You don't want to go near there. Trust me."

"But what is it?"

"Forget about it. Just stay away."

"C'mon, you can tell me, right!"

Leota puffed up in anger. The crystal ball turned a violent shade of green, the small whorls of aura swirling faster. "I told you: DON'T GO NEAR IT!"

"He won't listen," Sabrina informed the clairvoyant in a monotone.

Leota deflated slightly. "Is that right?" She sighed. "Fine. Go near it. Touch it for all I care."

Salem inched forward carefully, amber eyes glowing with curiosity and mystery._ It doesn't LOOK so scary. Just a bunch of moldering boards…_

Boards creaked apart, as clawed appendages burst forth from the shadows and reached for the cat. They frantically waved, trying to scoop up the feline.

Salem screamed, and ran to the Spirit Detective and medium standing in the middle of the hallway. Reluctantly, the claws drew back and the boards shut themselves once again.

The cat huddled in a quivering ball next to Sabrina's feet. He turned near-bulging eyes upward. "I COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!" he screamed.

Leota smirked. "Hate to say 'I told you so,' but…"

"I get it, I get it," the cat grumbled.

Leota chuckled, turning to Sabrina. "There's a saying I have in mind—I don't know if it still exists, but 'curiosity killed the cat'…"

"And satisfaction brought him back," Salem finished sarcastically. "Now, can someone please tell me what all that," he shuddered, "was about?"

Leota shook her head. "Fine, fine." She sighed, preparing herself.

"When Thorne took over, he didn't do it alone. He had help from a host of netherworld demons, some of whom still roam about the Mansion and its grounds."

Sabrina shuddered, recalling the spider demon she'd fought.

"Now, contrary to popular belief, there were a few—and I mean, very few—who had survived the onslaught. Those had been the ones to escape unnoticed during the carnage, or those who weren't here on the estate when the invasion took place.

"Zeke Holloway was one of them." She was quiet for a moment. "He was the assistant caretaker; not very smart or brave, but a likeable fellow. He had not been present when the Mansion fell under siege.

"He heard of the mysterious disappearances, and knew something had to be very, very wrong. So, Zeke came back, trying to figure out what had happened. He found me, and a few of the more powerful ghosts, who were hiding from Thorne."

"What happened?" Sabrina asked curiously. "Did he attempt to fight Thorne?"

"No. Zeke was thoroughly human. We all knew he would stand no chance against Thorne. The most we could do, we decided, was to aid any future rescuers. Doc Penezek, a guest at the Mansion, had left behind his entire stock of his trademark Bravery Tonic—which does work, at any rate. It was Zeke's idea to stockpile it, for any future would-be rescuers.

"Those boarded-up alcoves you see were either much smaller rooms, or passageways to smaller rooms. Some of the weaker demons are sealed in there—by my spells and some good, old-fashioned elbow grease." She sighed moodily. "Unfortunately, both are starting to wear off. The boards hold a little, but not enough to keep the demons entirely in their prisons. The spells keep anything from getting out, but don't prevent things from getting in…if you get my drift."

Salem's eyes bulged, and he climbed back up into the backpack.

"Right. So stay away from the demon traps," Sabrina noted. She paused as she adjusted the straps of the backpack. A thought came to her.

"Leota…what happened to Zeke Holloway?"

"He stayed here, more or less. There's a small shack, not exactly in the grounds, but not exactly outside, either. He stayed there with his hound Queenie, keeping an eye on the place."

Sabrina fell silent, contemplating the story._ I wonder if Zeke's spirit was caught here, like the other residents… _She sighed, and continued on, carefully avoiding the boarded doors. She easily found the Kitchen, and eagerly began the opening process.

"Do you think they'll have something to eat?" Salem asked eagerly, eyes shining with hope.

"Probably not, Salem. Any fresh food they would have had would be rotted away, and if they had any tins, those wouldn't be kept in the Kitchen."

Salem pouted.

Leota gave him a sudden grin. "We've got plenty of Bravery Tonic. Tastes pretty good, too."

Salem stuck his tongue out. "To people, maybe."

Sabrina chuckled and stepped inside.

The kitchen was quiet. Sabrina hardly had time to note the bare facts of the room: fireplace to her right, low cabinets doubling as workstations ringing the room, a few tables, and a large standing cabinet to her left, before her attention was diverted.

Hovering not six feet in front of her was the white blur from the hallway. It was shaped like a young girl: a young girl in a flowing white dress. Sabrina did not question its absence of legs, nor the hair flipped forward, covering the face.

As if in a trance, she stared.

It reached out an arm—a long, pale, clammy-looking arm—and extended a hand. The thin, bony, clawed fingers beckoned at the girl.

…_**Sabrina…**_

A soft, haunting voice, the voice of a young girl, called out.

As if in a trance, Sabrina stepped forward. _I must go to her…I have to…_

With that step, the lank fall of hair flipped up, standing as if electrified. The creature's skeletal face was stretched open in a grimace. The dark hole that served as a mouth widened, a bone-chilling scream issuing forth.

Sabrina was immediately jerked back into reality from the foggy daze the creature had held her in. The Medusa-like creature continued her unearthly screaming, while shooting white beams from the hollow sockets that should have contained her eyes.

_Not a good day to get stoned…_ She smirked, thinking of Medusa's petrifying powers.

Sabrina ducked under a nearby table, and began concentrating, trying to summon a larger amount of energy than before. Sabrina had barely time to formulate a plan before Salem began squalling. Sabrina darted up and out from behind the table, the ghost swiveling to face her. Again, the banshee uttered her eardrum-shattering wail, attempting to hit Sabrina with her paralyzing gaze.

Sabrina began to run towards the opposite end of the room. Abruptly stopping, she swiveled and fired. There was a heart-stopping pause.

The creature screamed again, an eardrum-piercing, inhuman screech, and fired another ocular blast. Sabrina ducked, watching the blast sail over her head. There _HAS to be a better way to fight her. I can't just keep doing run, duck, and cover. _She paused, biting a lip. _Wait! Right after she screams, she fires that energy-blast thing. Maybe that can be useful, somehow…_

Sabrina popped up, and, praying blindly, began to run in a circle around the walls of the Kitchen. While she ran, she fired blasts at the confused banshee. If ghosts could become confused, Sabrina decided, this one was, constantly swiveling to try and face its prey. Apparently, however, it was fairly strong, since the blasts of light seemed to have little or no effect on it. Salem and Leota screamed from the sidelines to 'keep it up.'

_Keep it up? I don't know if I can stand this screaming for much longer! This ghost is starting to piss me off!_

Sabrina quickly developed a strategy of 'shoot, run, and hide' that she blindly prayed would work. All the while, the ghost's tortured screeches were beginning to fray her already frazzled nerves.

Run. Pause. Screech. Duck. Run. Pause. Screech. Duck. Run. Pause. Screech. Duck.

The Kitchen seemed to whirl around her in a blur. She was getting tired and dizzy, and that ghost's screaming had her ready to snap. Blood pounded in her temples as she dashed forth, clutching the Beacon, the light energy humming hot and bright in her hand.

"JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!" she screamed, watching the burst of energy slam squarely into the ghost. The wraith twisted and let forth one final screech as she burst into small fragments of light that quickly shimmered into nothingness.

Sabrina let out a sigh, and leaned against the table, legs wobbling under her. "Remind me never to watch The Ring again. What was that adorable creature, by the way?"

Leota's ball rolled over to where the Detective stood. "They're lost souls, the spirits of evil women who refused to repent their ways. Eventually, they become banshees. I expect our old friend Thorne managed to find some trapped in the Netherworld, and brought them along for the ride."

"Lovely." Sabrina rubbed her eyes.

A loud, slow rumbling filled the room. Leota swiveled the crystal ball in all directions to see where the creature was hiding, and Sabrina clutched the Beacon, the Soul Gem pulsing with collecting energy under her fingertips.

Both of them quickly realized that the rumbling was coming from Salem's stomach. If the feline familiar had been in his biped form, he would have sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, and maybe blushed. But as it was, he couldn't raise his…forelegs…and any blush, no matter how red, would never have showed underneath his coat of thick, midnight fur.

Sabrina sighed, let the energy recede into the Beacon, and placed her hands on her hips. "Saaaalemmmm…"

He pouted. "I'm hungry!"

Sabrina rolled her eyes. "We've been through this before. They didn't keep actual food in the Kitchen a hundred years ago; they kept it in a different room. Now help me find some matches to light the fire, or we're in trouble." Leota's ball was placed in the backpack, and Sabrina began examining cupboards and drawers, looking for matches. They had those in the 1800s, right?

Salem prowled the countertops angrily. _Stupid house…no decent food…I've half a mind to just walk out… _His tail angrily lashed sideways, knocking over a black candle set precariously close to the counter's edge.

As if in slow-motion, Salem watched the candle slowly pitch to the earth with a small crash.

Sabrina whirled around, with an accusatory look written on her face. Salem tried his best to assume a 'who, me?' expression, but ultimately failed.

Leota gasped. "The candle! Look at the candle!"

Both girl and cat looked down to find a small, purple fire flickering above the surprisingly intact candle. "Uh…Leota…" Sabrina began.

"That fire's not normal," Leota stated. "There's supernatural energy emanating from that flame."

"Hit the deck!" Salem squawked.

Sabrina looked up in time to slam to the floor, as a plate arose from a stack of crockery on a table a few feet away, and soared to crash near her head. Sabrina paused, and then cautiously raised her head from behind the table she was crouching next to.

The Detective pulled down to avoid being decapitated by the next flying plate.

"What the heck?" she yelped, covering her head, " Salem, I think you've made whatever ghosts are in the kitchen very, very angry."

"Wasn't me!" the cat wailed, leaping off the counter, and trying to hide.

"To the door!" Sabrina announced, like a battle cry, and began crawling forward. She paused, and looked up again. Yet another plate was hurtling towards her. She ducked under the table, listening to a glass-shattering smash far too close for comfort.

Something red dropped onto the floor next to her. Sabrina blinked, and looked up. The plate had smashed a bottle of wine that had been placed on a table behind them, the contents dripping over the edge to lie in a crimson puddle on the floor.

_That wine on the floor's conducted the flame…weird…_

Sabrina quickly scanned the room, noting for the first time the bottles of wine scattered around the room. She bit her lip, playing an idea around in her head. _Maybe…since I can't find any matches…this could do the trick. Hopefully, the plate will follow..._

Sabrina quickly found a nearby bottle of wine, and darted to face it. From the corner of her eye, she saw the plate streaking towards her.

"Sabrina!" Leota shrieked, "Get out of the way!" Salem's eyes bulged as he hissed.

At the last possible moment, she ducked down, watching the bottle smash and wine leak onto the floor. Salem slowly started forward, and daintily lapped at the fluid. His eyes widened, and he lapped more enthusiastically. "Aw man, Sabs! This is the good stuff!"

"Thanks for letting me know," Sabrina grinned.

Before the psychic and cat's very eyes, Sabrina began to dart around the room. The invisible plate-flinger tracked the girl's every move, sending flying dishes in her direction. But at the last possible second, Sabrina would duck or jump to the side, making the plate crash into a bottle of wine that she had been standing next to.

"What is she doing?" cried Leota, baffled.

"Sabrina, if you're trying to make them run out of plates, it's a good idea, but they could just conjure them from thin air," Salem shouted.

A small, knowing smile hovered around the Spirit Detective's mouth as she darted from spot to spot, like a graceful black hummingbird. "Trust me on this one."

Leota swiveled in all directions, observing the room. _Wait…all the bottles are gone except for one…_

Sabrina was now standing with her back to the fireplace, a bottle of wine on the table before her. A laugh bubbled loose from her throat as she dodged to the side, while the bottle shattered. Pieces of translucent porcelain flew into the fireplace.

"Now I understand!" Leota yelped. "The wine on the floor! It was a trail!"

Sabrina folded her hands on her hips and smiled. Indeed, she had been doing the 'dance of broken dishes' for a reason. Each bottle of wine that spilled onto the floor had created a trail of alcoholic beverage. The magical fire from the candle leapt with a roar onto the line of liquid, following it straight into the fireplace.

A roaring, crackling blaze sprung to life in the pit, and Sabrina eagerly turned to warm her hands by it. Leota slowly rolled to rest by Sabrina's side. She looked up at the girl. "Good idea," she beamed. Sabrina smiled.

Salem, however, was sitting on his haunches by the first bottle of wine, whimpering. "What is it, Salem?" Sabrina called, turning her body to face him. "Did you burn your tail?"

"Why is the wine gone?" he whimpered plaintively.

Sabrina grinned. "Because the bottles were set up in a way that, if shattered, could leave a trail of alcohol to the fireplace. The fire simply caught it, and shazam! The fireplace is lit, lights on."

"But why is the wine gone?" he wailed.

Sabrina tipped her head back and roared with laughter at this one.

A brief search turned up a barrel filled with bottles of some sort.

She stooped and withdrew a brown bottle from the bin. "What is this? Doc Penezek's Genuine Old Fashioned Bravery Tonic," she read. "One dose is good for tongue warts, ear twitching, navel lint, cowardice, and other ailments."

"Yum—tasty…"

"Saaaaalem…."

"I'm serious! Did the guy patent it? It sounds great! After all, doesn't everyone want a cure for navel lint?"

Rolling her eyes, Sabrina stuck a few bottles in her backpack. "I'll save these for later."

Now that the evil spirits that had infested the room were gone, Sabrina found herself relaxing._ Mmm, and this Kitchen smells wonderful! _ It faintly smelled of spices, coffee and tealeaves. In the corner, next to a pile of old sacks stood a ghost with a list and pile of other documents, checking the household accounts. He had briefly greeted Leota, nodded to Sabrina and Salem, and continued with his work. "Very busy, don't have time right now," he'd mumbled.

Sabrina sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire. Leota rolled to sit on her right side, and Salem settled down on her lap.

"Just great," he mumbled, "nothing to eat, and nothing to drink but that Tonic. We'll die of starvation, if not from the monsters."

Sabrina chuckled, stroking his fur. "I don't know about that…" Exaggeratedly looking in all directions, she pulled out a bottle of wine she'd somehow snagged from a table.

Salem chuckled with delight as she pulled the cork out and took a sip. Once Salem had had a sip or two (Sabrina not being convinced that wine was entirely good for cats), she sat, drinking. Salem curled up in her lap, purring, as the fire danced merrily.

"This mood calls for music," she declared.

"And maybe some rum," Salem purred nostalgically.

The comment struck an idea in Sabrina's slightly buzzed brain. She began singing, softly, but getting louder. "We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves, drink up, me hic hearties, yo ho." Salem sat up in delight and joined her in signing.

"We're…devils, and black sheep, and…and…really bad eggs, drink up, me hearties, yo ho." Sabrina brandished the bottle. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!"

Leota sighed and rolled her eyes. _Enjoy yourself while you can, Sabrina, but there're still more challenges ahead…deadly ones…_

* * *

I'm sorry, I couldn't resist a POTC reference. Shame on me. (Or not!) Haha, and don't worry, she won't stay too drunk for long. After all, there's work to be done!

Zeke Holloway is the protagonist of the Haunted Mansion video game; sorry, Zeke, but if you'd defeated Thorne back in the 1800s, there would be no case! As an interesting side note, Zeke bears an uncanny resemblance to the Caretaker figure in the ride. I've always wondered if the resemblance was done on purpose as an homage.

Next chapter: As Sabrina struggles to regain her motor skills, the gang must navigate the Hallway of Doom, and figure out how to escape a room with no boundaries.


	8. On the Trail of Trouble

Sabrina giggled as she bounced out of the Kitchen. Rather than drunk, she was slightly tipsy. Witches were able to process alcohol rapidly, due to the structure of their bodies and metabolism. Luckily for the small group, this meant that Sabrina was only giggly and a little clumsy while the wine rapidly passed through her system.

Salem had opted to pad by the Detective's side, rather than hitch a lift in her backpack. Leota, nestled in the bottom of the sack and crowded by bottles of Bravery Tonic, could only pray that the slightly buzzed witch would not pick this time to stumble and fall, thereby shattering Leota's crystal sphere.

Sabrina leaned against the Kitchen door, trying to decide which direction to go in. _Right or left? Hmmm…_ "I'll just pick one!" she chirped, heading to her right.

"I don't think this is the right way to go," mumbled Leota, muffled by the bottles she shared the backpack with. "We're heading towards the Pantry."

"S'okay, Leota!" Sabrina chirped, again. There was a bounce to her step and a broad smile on her face. "S'all good!"

"No, it isn't," Salem muttered, peering ahead into the shadowed end of the hallway. _Maybe it's me, but I think something's moving._

A soft clicking came from the moving hump of shadows Salem had spotted. When one thin, orange leg slowly peeped out, Sabrina groaned.

"I thought I killed that lil' bugger," she moaned. "Don't tell me there're more where that one comes from!"

"Apparently so," Leota sighed.

Sabrina sighed, and clutched the Beacon in her fist. The spider, intrigued by prey that came so willingly to its nest, edged forward. Jaws dripping with a slimy white substance clicked once, then twice.

Salem backed up one step, but no further. Sabrina's lack of shrieking and panicking served to greatly bolster his courage. _Maybe the wine loosened her up a bit…_

The spider inched forward.

She pulled her free hand back, almost as if to punch it._ This is weird…what's this in my hand?_ Her gaze dropped down to her first, to see it slowly glowing. It felt like the very blood in her hand was pulsating._ Wait…that's energy! Soul energy! Somehow, I can tap into it. Maybe my own magic's the cause of this…_

She focused, drawing out energy from within the Beacon, pulling it inside the network of nerves that transmitted the flow of magical energy throughout her body. Carefully directing it to pool in her right hand, Sabrina was pleased to feel the steady hum of the gathering power. Pulling her hand back, she snapped her wrist forward, pushing the energy away as if casting a spell. Her efforts were rewarded when the blast made direct contact with the massive arachnid.

The spider gave a high-pitched whine as the blast tore a hole through its midsection. A sticky-looking substance (that Sabrina guessed was blood) slowly—very slowly—began to ooze. The spider's legs quivered as it rolled onto its back, insides caved in, and legs rolled up tight in death.

The party members stood, watching the oozing carcass of the spider. "Okay, say it with me!" Sabrina prompted the others.

"EEEEWWWWW…"

She remained, rooted to the spot, as the creature dissolved into a pile of ash.

"So…uhh…" how did you do that?"

"What do you mean?" Sabrina turned to look at Salem.

He nodded toward the Beacon, which was being held in her left hand. "You didn't fire that energy from the Beacon. It looked like you were casting a spell, almost." The cat looked up at her with quizzical eyes. "How'd you do it?"

"I don't really know," Sabrina said slowly, puzzling it out. "It—I think that if I concentrate on the soul energy in the Beacon hard enough, I can sort of draw it in. It's like the Beacon's an extension of me, somehow."

"Interesting," Leota murmured. "I've never seen it used like that." She paused for a moment, lost in thought.

Shrugging faintly, Sabrina turned around, and found a door to her left. She paused, extending her hand to the doorknob. A fierce crackling stung her fingertips, denying her entry.

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, and began walking forwards. _This ghostbusting business is a lot harder than the movie made it out to be. I mean, I'm collecting ghosts, casting pseudo-spells with energy of dead people, fighting an evil warlock…_

Salem padded by her side, looking up occasionally. "Seems like you've regained most of your motor-"

Sabrina staggered, and fell, narrowly missing a group of claws bursting from their prison.

"…skills…"

"Don't worry," Sabrina grunted as she attempted to pick herself off the floor, "the alcohol should pass through my system quickly. Witches' bodies process alcohol much more rapidly than humans' do."

"One can only hope," Leota muttered.

Continuing on, it was discovered that there was one more room left in that branch of the hallway. "The Maids' Room," Leota announced, "where the household help lived." Salem wound himself in and out of Sabrina's legs as she broke the barrier.

As they stepped inside, they discovered that the room was of medium proportions, with pale blue wallpaper, a bare floor, and a single iron-frame bed at the far wall, set next to a dresser and a mirror…or a portrait… It was so thickly covered in dust Sabrina gave up trying to guess what it was.

Dripping cold slowly filled the room as Thorne's ever-present ghost allies materialized from just in front of the bed. Sabrina grinning, mimicking her attack earlier by pulling the energy out of the Beacon itself and firing, rather than expel it directly from the lantern.

As soon as she was sure that the room was free of anything else that might attack them, she loosened the flap on the backpack, allowing Leota to peek out. "Got any ideas? The room looks completely bare...of anything useful, that is."

"What **I** want to know," Salem announced, "is why they only had one maid."

Sabrina blinked. "Come again?"

"It's the Maid's Room, right? Wouldn't they have more than one maid in a place this big?"

"Uh…" for once, Sabrina wasn't sure how to answer the cat's question. _Why are we even discussing this?_

"You're the thinking of a misplaced apostrophe, honey," Leota chuckled. "It's Maids', as in belonging to two or more maids."

"Then why's there only one bed?" Salem demanded.

"Maybe they had futons," Sabrina guessed.

"Or sleeping bags."

"Or maybe," Leota gritted, "they didn't care about where they slept when they had the **lights on**, if you catch my drift."

Sabrina laughed nervously._ Wow. Leota's kind of scary when she's angry._ "Right." She looked around; her eyes flitting over the room's pitifully few furnishings. _If I were a light switch, where would I be?_

Her eyes flitted fruitlessly over the walls of the room. They remained devoid of anything resembling a light switch. The Spirit Detective sighed, and moved to lean against the left-hand wall. "I give up." Abruptly, the wall pulled away from her, sliding back at least six feet. She fell backwards, unceremoniously landing on her rear.

"LEOTA!" she wailed.

Perhaps Sabrina was asking Leota if she was in one piece. Or maybe, she was asking if the psychic had known about the shifting walls beforehand. Either way, Leota interpreted the shout as asking for a hint as to why the wall had pulled from under her.

"_Though shifting walls may hide your doom, seek out the entrance to each room."_

"Doom?" Salem's amber eyes were the size of saucers. "We're **doomed**?" He began crying in the same pathetic fashion that he usually did when he couldn't get his own way…or when he was hungry and begging for food.

"Stop it, you crybaby," Sabrina snapped from her position on the floor. "We're not **doomed**. We're just...stuck for the time being." As she pushed herself off the floor, she turned and gazed warily at the disobedient wall. _I wonder if the other walls are like this…_

She slowly walked forward, holding her hands out, towards the wall. Her hands touched the cool surface, and pressed. _It isn't moving…this must be the true boundary of this wall._

Keeping her hand on the wall, she turned to her right, heading for the wall the bed rested against. She moved her hand away from the west wall, and brought it up to touch the northern one.

Almost immediately, a swarm of ghosts shot out of the wall. The Detective gasped as they swiped at her a few times, while she fumbled for the Beacon in her hands. Finally managing to blast them away, she dropped to her knees, gasping.

She had been unsure, previously, of how ghosts could interact with their environment, or with living creatures. She was still a little shaky on her theory, but it seemed that they could at least inflict nonphysical damage. It felt as if her soul or her mind had been wounded, in a way. Dizziness thrummed in her head as she gasped for breath. Her head began to reel with the beginning of a panic attack.

_Is it possible for these ghosts to cause you to go insane? I mean, if they attack you enough, could they tear your psyche to shreds? Either way, I have to be more careful. Any mistake on my part could lead to something worse than a physical injury._

"Are you all right, honey?" Leota asked solicitously.

"Nothing that a little Bravery Tonic won't cure," she rasped, rummaging in the bag for a bottle. "I think I can use a little boost of bravery right about now." She pulled one out, eying it for a minute, before uncapping it and hesitantly sipping. The contents were cool, with a pleasant citrus flavor. _Wow…just a mouthful makes me feel better!_

Salem eyed her for a moment. "Be careful," he said quietly. "Too much contact with those malicious spirits won't be good for your spiritual…or mental health."

Sabrina froze mid-sip, nearly choking. "So it's true?" she asked curiously, wiping her mouth. "They can make you go crazy?"

"Yes," Leota answered in his place. Salem scowled at her for beating him to the reply. "Though a ghost or spirit cannot harm you physically, the damage they can wreak upon your spiritual self—your soul, in other words—and your mind could be tremendous."

"Well, this seems to help," Sabrina noted, hefting a bottle.

"I never was able to find out from the Doc exactly **what** he put in that stuff," Leota mused. "But seeing as it's a **bravery** tonic, I guess it somehow reverses the mental damage that's caused—fear, paranoia, and so on."

"Maybe he just added massive doses of caffeine," Salem teased. "And now Sabrina will have jitters all night anyway."

Sabrina rolled her eyes at the cat's obnoxious comment. Tossing the bottle away, she pushed at the northern wall again. It slid back under her touch. Stepping forward again, she followed that wall along to the east one.

"Maybe I ask what you're doing?" Salem drawled.

"Finding the boundaries of this room. Maybe we'll find another door that will lead us to the wall switch," Sabrina responded absent-mindedly.

The eastern wall slid away, as was expected, revealing a doorway. A small smile spread across the blonde's face. "That," she pointed at the door, "is as good a lead as any." She leaned forward and opened the door.

A gigantic orange-and-black spider, nearly identical to the ones in the Game Room and Downstairs Hallway, turned to face her.

Sabrina slammed the door shut.

"Oh, damn."

"Spider?" the psychic offered.

"How'd you guess?"

Sabrina glared at the door. _I hate this stupid room. I hate these stupid spiders. I swear, if I…no, no! __**When**__ I get home, I will never think of spiders the same way again. I __**will**__ go home. I __**will**__._

"Fine."

She gritted her teeth, and began to consciously pull at the energy within the Beacon. Stomping up to the door, she yanked it open, and casually decimated the arachnid with a few blasts. The blonde Detective snorted and walked inside, slamming the door behind her.

Salem, left behind with Leota on the bed, sighed. "At least this will save us a bundle on arachnophobia therapy."

In the next room, Sabrina had followed the walls around, searching for the next door, when she realized something.

_There's an intersection here. A maze in a maze._ "Damn," she said again, surprising herself at her repeated use of profanity.

Indeed, the Maids' Room was a maze of passageways. The hallways were made of intersections, suggesting that in its proper, un-cursed state, there were small sectioned-off areas within the large room. Not knowing what else to do, the witch simply took the opposite hallway in the intersection.

"If only," she mused, "I'd remembered to bring a ball of string or bread crumbs or something to leave a trail." _This place is dangerous…If I get caught in a dead-end section, I'm finished, given my sense of direction…or __**mis**__direction, rather. I have to remember where each doorway leads._

The hallway led to a fork. "Great. Just great," she mumbled, rubbing a braid between her fingers. Picking the left side, (_I should just keep choosing left each time_, she figured) she continued walking, to find…

Another fork in the hallways. And a bunch of her favorite little eight-legged pals crawling out of the right-hand side to greet her.

After stomping them into little puddles of squished bug goop, Sabrina quickly decided to, again, take the left-hand side. This appeared to be a good choice, as it yielded a door. It was little reassurance that she was on the right path, but certainly better than a dead end.

The room it opened up into was bare but for a few ghosts swarming from between the ceiling boards. After exasperatedly blasting them to the world beyond (it was starting to get rather monotonous), she stuck to her 'push a wall back as far as you can, and run around the room doing it' strategy. A door was her reward for pushing a wall to the left and forward. She opened the door, expecting another dark, dusty room.

She found herself back at the entrance; a befuddled Salem and Leota stared at her, and the lights were still off. Stepping through the doorway, she shook her head in disbelief.

"Ooookay…no light switch here…"

"Then what are you here for?" Salem demanded.

"Give me a break!" Sabrina snarled. "This was where the other rooms led me!" Angered at the feline, she prowled along the edges, finding that the right-hand one now pushed back even farther and to the right to reveal a door.

She pouted all through the next intersection and fork, not noting her path.

_Oh great…was it the right-hand or left-hand path I took? …Like it matters…_

She blinked. Another door. "I get it, I get it," she groused, to the air around her. "Okay. I'm following the doors like you want me to. I just want to find the stupid light switch!"

This door led her back to the entrance, too. "That was weird," she commented. She blinked. There was a light switch next to the door.

Sabrina's mouth neatly dropped open as she pointed dumbly to the switch. "Light switch," she croaked, "**right there**."

Salem and Leota swiveled to examine the wall. "Yes," Salem remarked casually. "It would appear to be so."

"But…but…it wasn't there before!" Sabrina sputtered.

"Come to think of it," Leota frowned, it wasn't there before you walked through the door the last time."

"Maybe you had to walk through all the doors," Salem postulated.

"If so, that was a stupid idea," Sabrina griped. "None of these challenges we're being faced with are difficult at **all**. There's no point to them; they're just busywork." Her face darkened. "The jerk's underestimating me. I hate it when people do that."

Glowering, the Spirit Detective flipped on the light. The walls slammed back into their proper places, and several small lamps scattered around the room lit up. A familiar oak lectern stood by the left-hand wall.

Sabrina's mouth dropped into a neat little 'o' shape, as she recalled seeing that same lectern and book before, but in a different room… The trio stared at it for a minute, uncomfortably aware that the book had not been there fifteen seconds before.

"Read it," Leota urged in a whisper.

Sabrina hesitantly walked up to the text. _Can Thorne sense where we are? He must be a powerful warlock…and the most powerful witches can extend portions of their own energy into precious objects. If that's true, Thorne's been keeping his eye on us the whole time._

She shuddered, thinking of her slide down the banister, ending in a heap on the floor. Her petticoats had been a bit **too** high up her legs when she'd landed… She shuddered again. _I don't know what this Thorne looks like, but it's disturbing, nonetheless, thinking of some old guy watching your every move…_

"C'mon," Salem whispered, staring at the book. _It looks like it's pulsating…like it __**wants**__ to be read…_

As Sabrina neared it, the book flipped open of its own accord. She shrieked slightly, jumping back. Willing her heart to stop pounding so violently, she came closer, and began reading.

_Tome of Shadows_

_Volume II_

_Page 482_

_We must have the Beacon of Souls. The Brotherhood has been wise to keep it hidden from us. In secret it travels, from the mountains of Italy to the valleys of Spain, always just beyond our grasp. But our eyes and ears are everywhere, and the Beacon will be found. I will scour to the end of the earth until it is located. So it is written and so it shall be._

_A. Thorne_

_Grand Master_

_The Order of Shadows_

_December 21st, 1541 A.D._

Sabrina's gaze dropped to the Beacon clutched in her hand. _How can a lantern…a battered, soul-sucking lantern, be so important that a warlock like Thorne would devote centuries of his life searching for it? It doesn't make sense._

"Leota."

The psychic's lovely eyes fastened onto the young girl.

"…Why?" Sabrina whispered. She traced the dents and bumps of the lantern's service with her forefinger. "Why does he want this thing so **badly**? What's so special about it?"

Leota swiveled to face the Beacon. "Suffice to say, the Beacon of Souls is more powerful than it appears to be." Her face took on a vague, dreamy look that Sabrina promptly recognized as a trance.

"The Beacon was created long ago by a powerful witch—a Druid—who was a devotee of the power of Light. She locked away pieces of Light magic and energy inside it, and called it the Beacon of Souls, hoping that its power would call her fellow countrymen away from the dark magicks, and into the redeeming power of the light. You must understand; this was a time of political and social difficulty—the polytheistic Romans controlled Europe, and the Druids were struggling to survive and practice their nature-worship.

"It was handed down among the descendants of her Druid clan until Thorne, the leader of the Order of Shadows, discovered its existence, and its true power. If he could harness its energy, he could have unlimited power. To protect the Beacon, its guardians formed an organization known as the Brotherhood of Light; witches who understood and were part of the light flocked to them to lend their strength. Wherever the Order lurked, the Brotherhood was one step ahead, keeping their precious Beacon out of the Order's dark claws."

Sabrina reverently rubbed the handle. "So, Thorne wants this because he could take its power for himself?"

Leota nodded solemnly. "You must guard it with your life, Sabrina. The Beacon of Souls is the only weapon strong enough to challenge Thorne. It is our only hope."

Salem's amber eyes never wavered from her face, as the girl bit her lip and nodded, gripping the Beacon so tightly it must have left a welt in her palm. His eyes followed her as she turned to hunt for the Shriveled Souls. _She's so young…trapped in a situation beyond her control… Her power is nowhere near strong enough to match the aura I've felt here. I didn't want to say anything, but…_

_This Thorne is strong...unbelievably so. I've never felt any trace aura so overpowering…and I'm afraid that no matter how much energy those Soul Gems provide, it won't be enough to compete with a centuries-old darkness that's been brooding. Drell had absolutely no idea what he was doing when he sent us here…_

Sabrina returned, carrying a scrap of a Death Certificate. "Room's clear," she announced, in a tone curiously devoid of any emotion._ This is too much pressure. I don't want to be a part of this any more. I…I don't think I can do this! _She sighed, placing a hand to her chest. _Why is my heart pounding so hard, still?_ She shuddered, and leaned against the wall.

**Lub-dub...lub-dub…lub-dub…**

She blinked, removing her hand from her heart. "Do you hear that?" she whispered.

Salem nodded, and Leota darted her head in all directions, trying to divine the source of the heartbeat. Sabrina trembled faintly. Leota's mouth dropped slightly. "The mirror!" she hissed. "Look at the mirror!"

Turning her head to where Leota indicated, Sabrina felt her breath catch in her throat. It actually was a mirror over the bureau next to the bed, she realized. Because in the mirror was the reflection…or image…of a glowing, beating red heart.

**Lub-dub…lub-dub…lub-dub…**

"Elizabeth?" Leota's voice dropped away into a chasm of nearly a hundred years.

Slowly, a misty image formed around the macabre heart, which, bit by bit, flickered into reality. Standing before the mirror was the ghostly form of a young woman, dressed in wispy white. _A bridal gown_, Sabrina realized. With leg-of-mutton sleeves, a tapered waist, and a flowing lace train, the dress was made in the style of a long-gone era. The ornate white veil was pinned to her head from a small wreath of white roses, and extended a good four feet down the woman's back.

The woman slowly turned to face the group, and they sucked in a collective breath.

The veil covered her face, of which nothing could be seen, save for two dark spots that Sabrina guessed were the eyes. Her nonexistent face didn't scare the Detective as much as the glowing, blood red heart slowly beating under her bosom.

Yet again the gypsy's voice was raised in an incredulous whisper, "Elizabeth?" Had Sabrina not been both horrified and fascinated, she would have compared the tableau to that of Poe's _The Raven_.

"_Leota_." Had the whisper come from the bride before them? Sabrina was sure of it.

"It's you," the psychic murmured in awe and adoration. "It's really you."

"_Where is he_?"

"Edward? You mean, where is Edward?" Leota frowned.

"_Where is he_?"

"I don't know," Leota confessed. "Like you, I've been trapped. My only refuge was my room below the Great Hall. Thorne couldn't touch me there. Have the others been trapped and bound as well?"

A barely perceptible nod was the gypsy woman's only response.

Leota sighed. "We haven't come across Edward yet…he must be locked away somewhere else in the Mansion."

"_Tell him…_"

"Yes?" Sabrina prompted, the first time she'd spoken during the revelation. Although some of the fright she felt upon first seeing the ghostly bride remained, her sympathies were beginning to be aroused. "Tell him what, Elizabeth?"

"_I'm waiting for him. I'm still waiting for him_."

Sabrina blinked. "I'm afraid I don't-"

"_Tell him what I said last. My heart beats for only him._"

With that, Elizabeth turned back to the mirror, her form coalescing into that of a small orb of glowing white-and-blue energy. The ball hovered over the bureau, before settling into a small, intricately carved box set on the bureau's top.

_Amazing. After all these years, she still loves him—this Edward—enough to wait here for him._

Sabrina's eyes softened. "I'll find him, Elizabeth. And don't worry…I'll pass your message on."

* * *

Here's where elements from the movie come in…although things are not exactly as you might think...

Elizabeth is actually a composite of the movie's Elizabeth (Master Gracey's lost love) and the ride's Attic Bride (the one with the beating heart).

Next chapter:

In the Dining Room, the gang finds plenty of spiders and ghosts, but no switch. Can they navigate their way through a sea of candles to complete the task? Meanwhile, Sabrina struggles to come to terms with her duty as protector of the Beacon. And what is the story behind the mysterious bride, Elizabeth, and the man she loves, Edward?


	9. Heart of Danger

As the group exited the Maids' Room, Sabrina folded her arms and bit her lip. _It seems that Leota knows that woman, Elizabeth…_ An image of the bride's featureless face hidden behind the lacy veil popped up behind her eyes, causing the teenage witch to shiver._ They're obviously well-acquainted; maybe they knew each other before they died? And who's Edward? Elizabeth's boyfriend or fiancé, maybe? …This just opened up a whole new bunch of questions. The more I learn, the more I realize that I don't know anything._

The small group walked back towards the door leading to the Foyer in silence. Leota decided that they would examine the room directly across from the Foyer door. Sabrina stopped for a moment, as if to readjust her boots and the backpack straps. Her goal, however, was to obtain some information.

"Who is Elizabeth?" she asked casually, brushing a piece of dust off her skirt. "And who is the man she was talking about?"

The blue-green shadows within the crystal ball stirred uneasily. The psychic was unsure of how much information to dole out at a time. She'd already related the story of the Beacon… _Well, not __**all**__ of the Beacon's story, but enough for now. I suppose telling her a little bit now wouldn't hurt, but I don't want to overload her with more information than she can handle._

Choosing her words carefully, Leota began. "Elizabeth Hollingsworth was the fiancée of the owner of the Mansion. **His** name was Edward Gracey—**Master** Gracey to everyone else, of course."

"Why was she wearing that wedding dress?" Sabrina asked curiously. _Because if they were only engaged…_

Leota's eyes dropped. If Sabrina had been paying closer attention, she might have noticed what could pass for unshed tears wavering in the ghostly woman's eyes. "Elizabeth died on her wedding day." Her voice broke slightly, dropping off by the end of the sentence.

Sabrina blanched, a sick feeling twisting in her stomach. _That's so horrible…that poor woman…_

"I remember…as she lay dying, she claimed that her love could never be subdued, even in death…that her heart beat for Edward alone…" Leota trailed off, the anguish evident in her voice.

Clearly, Leota had been good friends with Elizabeth, and her death must have been painful for everyone. Sabrina bit her lip. _It would be cruel to ask Leota for more. She sounds so drained, right now._

"So, how do you know the Graceys?" Salem quipped. "Former clients?"

_Then again, Salem doesn't have my sense of tact…_

Leota gave the cat a wan smile. "I met Edward Gracey in 1852, the day he was born." Salem blinked. Leota continued, the slight change of topic giving her a chance to rein in her emotions, calming down if only for a moment. "My family was very poor—my mother read palms and did washing, but it wasn't enough. As soon as I was old enough, I managed to get hired by the previous Master Gracey, Edward's father. I was an assistant parlormaid, but I also helped look after the children sometimes." She smiled, reminiscing, "I loved all the Gracey children, but Edward was my favorite. He was such a wonderful little boy—like the little brother I never had."

"So why are you here?" Sabrina asked, fascinated by the story. "I mean, why aren't you still a servant…" she blushed and trailed off._ Smooth move, Sabrina. That's certainly something very nice to ask somebody._ The Detective tried to cover her embarrassment by laughing, but it ended up sounding nervous and insincere.

Leota, however, didn't seem to be insulted at all, and gave them an equivalent of a shrug—seeing as Leota lacked shoulders to do an actual one. "I became very close to the Gracey family as the years went on, especially where the children were concerned. One year, Edward's mother came back from a trip to Georgia…" The psychic paused for a moment, as if deciding what to say. "She was obsessed with the paranormal, and when she discovered that I had talents within that realm, she hired me as her personal contact to the supernatural world."

Salem blinked. "Just like that?"

"Well, she had her reasons," Leota explained in a hollow tone. She rushed on to finish. "And then after she died, Edward invited me to stay on as a houseguest."

_Wow…Leota seems to become more of a real person every time she tells us more of her past. She's obviously more than some disembodied head in a crystal ball, but it's interesting to have a reminder that she was once a living, breathing girl…like me._

All too suddenly, the Dining Room door was before Sabrina's face.

Once the group entered the room, she wondered why she'd been nervous. The Dining Room was much like any dining room Sabrina had ever seen, although much grander. It was long and narrow, with a magnificent fireplace at one end and a high ceiling. An equally long and narrow table occupied the center of the room, with chairs stiffly arranged and plates set out, as if waiting for a dinner that was never served.

A chandelier set with wax candles hung over the table and some smaller tables were set on either side of the entrance door. On the right-hand-side were two recesses in the wall, one housing a spiral staircase leading to a second-story balcony. Leota explained that it was called a 'musicians' gallery,' and that was where musicians would sit and play when they were hired to entertain at dinner parties.

Even though she had barely been in the room for a minute, Sabrina could feel the pulsing energy of the switch. It was coming from quite high above her.

_That must mean it's on the balcony…_

Sabrina turned to her right, heading for the staircase. She was immediately greeted by a skeletal banshee drifting down the stairs, lank hair floating in a seaweed-like cloud.

_At least I'm better prepared this time…_

Sabrina felt the familiar flow of Soul Energy course from the Beacon and settle into her hands, pulsing along with the magical energy inside her body. She concentrated on gathering it, drawing it from the core and the two Soul Gems, pulling it into her fingertips. She pulled back her arm, timing it, waiting for the banshee to drift closer…

The banshee's hair flipped off her face as her skeletal features stretched into a grimacing scream.

"TAKE THAT!"

Sabrina had never thought of herself as a sadistic person in any way, shape, or form. (Mr. Kraft and Libby, however, would definitely fit the description.) But Sabrina felt that she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that the ball of energy tearing through the banshee's face satisfied her in some small way.

Once the writhing, unrepentant spirit had been banished back to the Netherworld, Sabrina cautiously jumped up the curving marble staircase, admiring the wrought-iron banister. The balcony was crawling with Sabrina's least favorite creatures, but a few well-placed stomps took care of the poisonous arachnids.

And there, set on the wall, was the switch, the bone handle pulsing and dripping faint traces of energy.

The teenage witch grinned. "This is the easiest room to fix yet, huh?" She crowed, mostly to Salem, and pulled the switch. The candles on the chandelier burst into flame—for a brief moment. The next moment, they burst out of their sockets, as if of their own volition, and scattered, floating, about the room.

Sabrina blinked. Leota sighed. Salem began snickering. "And you said that this was the easiest room to solve!" the cat chortled, nearly doubling over.

The girl scowled at the chuckling cat. If she weren't so far away, she would have swiftly aimed a kick at his rear end. Gritting her teeth, she tore down the staircase. "It isn't as hard as it might look!" she called, moving towards a floating candle. "You just have to chase them down…"

The candle jumped out of her hands as she reached for it, swerving away to the back and left. Sabrina jumped forward and swiped, again. The recalcitrant candle danced out of the way.

Salem padded up the stairs and curled up on the balcony, amusing himself by watching Sabrina scream, curse, and chase after a floating candle. "Better than HBO," he decided.

A lock of wayward hair hung in her face, as the Spirit Detective glared at the candle floating in front of her. "I. Hate. You," she gritted through her teeth in frustration, pulling out the Beacon and attempting to smack the candle. Amazingly, a small spark of Soul Energy fizzled from the Beacon into the candle, the wick bursting into flames. Sabrina stopped, blinking, as it floated to hover behind her. She turned around, the candle following. Eying it oddly, Sabrina dodged to the left. The candle followed suit.

"Uh, Leota…" she trailed off.

"It's okay, honey," the Creole psychic soothed. "It isn't going to hurt you. Just…light all the candles. They'll be easier to manage if they're obedient like this."

Sabrina raised an eyebrow at Leota, but stretched her hand towards an unlit candle floating nearby. The wax cylinder lit at her touch, weaving through the air to join the other lit candle. With an amused chuckle, Sabrina dashed around the room, touching candles that burst into flames.

Salem chuckled as the teenage girl ran back and forth, candles floating behind her like a conga line. "Having a good time?" he drawled laconically, tail slowly lashing back and forth.

The blonde looked up at the balcony, grinning broadly. She turned away, dancing in a sea of pinpricks of light.

When all the lighted candles had been collected, Sabrina stood by the table, gazing thoughtfully at the chandelier. "Now, to put them back…" she mumbled. She turned to the line of candles. "Okay! Go back!"

Nothing happened.

Her eye twitched. Sabrina jabbed her finger at the chandelier. "Go back. Back to the chandelier."

The candles didn't move.

Sabrina flailed her arms. "Over **there**. Go! Go home!"

The candles still didn't move.

"Go HOME! What's WRONG with you? Are you too **good** for your home?"

On the spur of the moment, to add a dramatic flair to her ranting, Sabrina then hopped onto the table, gesturing to the chandelier. As her fingers brushed against cold brass, the candles eagerly flew to their appropriate spots. The chandelier's chain tightened with an audible clink and slowly rose. Almost immediately, a fire sprang to life in the gloomy, dormant fireplace, roaring and crackling.

Sabrina paused. "Has it…been fixed?" she called out, uncertainly. "There isn't some other catch to it, is there?"

"I would say it's done," Leota mused, eying the chandelier critically. "Good work, kid!"

Sabrina began to slowly wander about the room, exploring and taking in the sumptuous details. She walked down the length of the dining table, hands ghosting over the table settings. Yellowed linen draped the table, decorated with a border of faded leaves and vines. Bone china plates and tarnished silverware, along with brittle, fragile-looking napkins, were set in perfectly exact, symmetrical patterns. Everything was perfect, and ready for the dinner party that was never to be.

_Maybe this was set for Edward and Elizabeth's wedding dinner_, Sabrina realized with a start. For a moment, she imagined the table lined with excitedly chattering wedding guests, a constant joyous buzz filling the room. A magnificent wedding cake would be wheeled in, the star of the show, but only eclipsed by the lovely bride and her dark, mysterious groom…

She came to herself with a start._ Come on, Sabrina. No time to waste with useless daydreams…_Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs of her imaginings away, she kept on walking towards the end of the room, running her fingertips over the tops of dusty chairs. At the far end of the room lay a magnificent fireplace, a fire now crackling merrily inside it. Stretching pale hands out to get warm, Sabrina admired the design.

The majority of the brass surface was decorated with a relief of a massive flurry of flames. Dark angels and tormented spirits writhed, frozen for an eternal moment in their prison of fire and brimstone. A huge wrought-iron fire shield, with a curtain of flames worked into the design, safeguarded a careless viewer from falling into the hearth. _Or falling into the mouth of Hell_, Sabrina thought wryly.

The room seemed so quiet, almost peaceful, with the merry crackling of the fire, and Salem's distant, contented purrs as he curled up on the balcony. Sabrina leaned against the wall, relaxing slightly. The musty decaying stench was beginning to fade, although she was beginning to notice its presence less and less as she progressed further into the mansion. "I wonder how much longer this will go on for," she wondered softly. "Just how _many_ rooms are there, anyway?"

Remembering the huge size of the mansion, and the possibility of dozens more rooms, the Spirit Detective groaned, sliding to the floor. Eddies of dust swirled as she sat down, briefly stirring up a piece of paper at her side. Curious, she gently lifted the brittle parchment off the floor.

_Ah, this piece should complete another Death Certificate. I wonder who it is?_

Shrugging, she examined the picture. This time, the macabre sketch was of a haggard, skeletal-looking man hunched over a keyboard. She could almost feel the fervor with which he was pounding the keys. Yet a dark shadow loomed eerily in the background, looking uncannily like (if she squinted closely) the Grim Reaper.

"The Shadow of Death," Sabrina murmured quietly. She faintly shuddered at the thought. Carefully, she used her free hand to push herself up from the floor. The teenage witch winced at the amount of gray, furry dust coating her hand, and hastily wiped it on the skirt of her dress. Slowly, she made her way over to the staircase, where Leota had been left with the backpack.

The psychic swiveled to face her as the teenage witch drew nearer. "Look what I found," Sabrina said quietly, showing her the certificate.

"My, my," Leota murmured in her soft drawl. "Herr von Baroketch. It's the Organist's Death Certificate." Her eyes wearily rested on the sketch, as if she had seen it far too many times. "That poor man. He was a workaholic in **every** sense of the word…" she chuckled softly, humorlessly.

Sabrina's eyes turned to the paper again, eyes wide in disbelief. "He worked himself to **death**?"

"Herr von Baroketch was a terribly gifted musician," Leota explained, "renowned throughout Europe as a genius, perhaps second only to Ludwig von Beethoven himself. Supposedly the two were rivals—or maybe it was only in von Baroketch's mind. He pushed himself with an insane fervor, determined to triumph. Apparently, von Baroketch had secretly composed a master symphony—one that would cement his position as a musical genius forever and completely blow Beethoven out of the water. He worked for weeks on it, often going without sleep or food. But one day…" she shrugged. "His mortality caught up with him. And that's why Beethoven's in the classical music aisle, and von Baroketch…well…isn't."

Sabrina stared at the paper. "I feel so horrible for him," she mumbled. "All his energy, all his emotion…for nothing."

Leota sighed gustily. "Indeed. But for him? Anything for his art."

"Must have been a Method artist," Salem suggested, sauntering down the staircase. He earned withering glances from both the women.

"The two of them have nothing to do with each other," Sabrina groaned.

"Fine. Be picky," Salem sniffed.

The teenage witch rolled her eyes, carefully placing Leota into the backpack, and swinging it into place. "Come on, you. Let's go."

"Let's check out the party, though," Salem pointed out.

"What are you…oh." Indeed, several ghosts were now seated around the table. A few were leaning back in their chairs, speculating about the upcoming meal. One guest apparently had been celebrating a little too early and had passed out under the table—if ghosts could, that is.

At one end of the table sat a cheery, plump woman with a bouffant of magnificent, bright orange hair. She was attired in a flounced pink-and-white striped dress, and was eagerly contemplating the rather large phantom birthday cake placed before her.

By now rather curious, Sabrina slowly edged closer as the woman mused out loud. "Now, what kind of wish should I make?" the ghostly woman pondered. After a few moments, her face broke into a sunny smile. "Oh! I know! Good health…a long life…" she paused again, smiling broadly. "And many more birthdays to celebrate with you all…" She looked around, beaming at the table's occupants. Her gaze settled a moment where Sabrina stood, but seemed to pass right through her.

The woman drew in as deep a breath as she could, and then leaned forward to extinguish the candles. After a moment, they flickered back, but the woman simply sat in her chair again, unfazed.

"Did she…not notice?" Sabrina asked Leota, holding the backpack at an angle where the psychic ghost could see.

Leota smiled sadly. "No. You see…with the exception of a few, most of the ghosts in the mansion are…stuck in the past. They haven't accepted their deaths, and probably don't realize they're ghosts. To them, they are forever reliving the last moments of their life." At the sharp intake of breath that came from Sabrina, she continued.

"The birthday girl over there is…or, was, rather…called Madame Tangerine. Madame Victoria Boufant, really, but never mind that. She's one of Edward's aunts, and she just **loved** to throw parties. And most of them were to **die** for." She chuckled softly over her accidental joke. "If I remember correctly, she died of a heart attack at her last birthday party…right after blowing out the candles. But, for her, the party's never ended."

Sabrina cringed faintly. "That's horrible," she mumbled. She sighed sadly, turning to walk towards the door, throwing one last look at the never-ending birthday party behind her.

"That's too bad," Salem declared, trotting alongside Sabrina. "I wonder why such a bad fate's befallen those poor ghosts?"

"Why, indeed?" said Leota.

* * *

Herr von Baroketch and Madame Tangerine's (the organist and 'birthday girl' in the ride's ballroom scene) stories are loosely adapted on the ones created for them in the Unofficial Biographies of the Haunted Mansion from Doombuggies. Sorry if I keep tossing that out, but I always feel it's important to point out your sources.

There's a bit of Happy Gilmore tossed in this chapter; points to those who can find it!

Next chapter:

The Ballroom turns out to be a trap of supernatural aura, giant spiders, and one very cranky Organist. Can Sabrina fight her way of out the spiders' web, or will she succumb to the pit of monsters? Even after all challenges are presented, the Grand Master of the Order of Shadows will reveal himself…


	10. Natural Enemies

The hallway was much scarier once you left the warmth and brightness of a room. Upon closer inspection, the wallpaper was a muted shade of indigo, not blue, and printed with an odd reoccurring black, lacy pattern. But what was truly eerie was the way that the pattern seemed to form into faces with sharp teeth and watchful eyes…

Sabrina shuddered in revulsion._ It's like the house is watching our every move…_

Adorning the wall were grotesque pictures; the black-and-white daguerreotypes depicted hideously deformed goblins and ghoulies with faces that could break a camera. Sabrina briefly wondered who had taken those photos. Small tables and chair also littered the hallway, set with unlit lamps and bowls of dead flowers, in a pitiful attempt at mitigating the sinister atmosphere.

The Spirit Detective's lip curled in disgust as she discovered that the needlepoint above the table nearest her to read "Tomb, Sweet Tomb." "Which way?" she asked uneasily, turning away from the sampler. She reached up to scratch behind her familiar's ears; Salem had climbed onto her shoulder, wary of treading the dusty ground.

"To your right," Leota answered firmly. "We'll be taking the left-hand-side of the Downstairs Hallway."

Only a few feet away stood the wood-paneled archway leading to the other wing of the house. Sabrina sucked in her breath, and started walking. _I wonder if this place can possibly get any creepier. It doesn't seem feasible._

But to her surprise, this section of the hallway looked almost…**normal**. It was wallpapered in pale yellow with thin white stripes, and a carpet of plain, respectable moss green covered the floor. The only decorations were a few oaken niches in the wall, each housing a marble bust. It seemed as if the hallway was trying to keep up a respectable façade in light of its being placed in a haunted mansion.

"Take the first door on your left!" Leota chirped. "Got to get this over with!"

_How can she be so cheery and chipper? If she's trying to cheer me up, that's poor reassurance. Or is she trying to keep me calm, so I don't…well…go crazy_

Salem, who had been silent since their departure from the Dining Room stiffened, the hair rising on his body. "Something's here," he hissed.

With a sudden start making her heart pound painfully, Sabrina froze. The cat was right; there was a strange presence in the room, a subtle sensation of being followed, being watched. But there couldn't possibly be anyone following them….right?

_Is it just my imagination, or are those marble busts looking at us?_

The teenage witch quickly whirled around to check. The statues innocuously inhabited their positions, the stern looks etched onto their faces directed at each other. Sabrina's heartbeat slowly relaxed. _Maybe it __**was**__ just my imagination …_

Laughing nervously, she scratched her head and turned away. As she walked further down the corridor, the marble busts swiveled to watch her, scowls deepening as they stared at the intruder.

Sabrina finally found the door to the Ballroom, thoughtfully pausing before it. "I wonder what it looks like," she murmured._ Maybe it'll look like a castle ballroom from a fairy tale…_

"Well, you won't find out by staring at the door," Salem drawled.

Leota looked thoughtful. "I wonder how it's held up over the years?"

Sabrina sighed, and placed her hand to the door, watching eagerly as the energy barrier dissolved with a single touch. The door slowly swung open with a prolonged groaning creak. The Spirit Detective gasped in amazement, clasping her hands together. Even Salem's amber eyes widened in awe.

Indeed, the Ballroom was **huge**. Gazing at the lofty ceiling, Sabrina realized her entire house could fit easily into this room. Ionian pillars easily twenty-five feet in girth stood in precise rows, and the vast floor was tiled in alternating squares of pale gray and deep purplish-blue. At the rear of the room was its crowning glory—a majestic pipe organ, larger than any Sabrina had ever seen. The fact that it was spread and designed into a bat shape didn't overly please her. Sets of stairs curved on either side, leading to a balcony behind, with a balustrade running along it.

The light switch was easy to find—she could both faintly see and feel its pulsing energy on the wall of the balcony. She paused, though, eyes flickering over every surface of the room, as if waiting for it to twist in upon itself, or some other such freak.

Satisfied that no enemies existed in the room, she walked towards the organ, wondering if she dared to even touch the keys. She remembered playing the piano in the Conservatory, and smiled. _I bet the "Phantom of the Opera" Overture would sound awesome played on this…I can just picture Erik seated there, cape billowing as he pounds the keys to make his 'music of the night'… I wonder if that makes me Christine, then…approaching the mysteries this mansion contains, ready to rip its mask of darkness off, to confront the distortion that so warps it…_

In her musings, she barely noted that the faint glowing of the organ's keyboard.

Unexpectedly, the organ began playing of its own accord, a fierce, dark, angry melody wailing forth from the pipes. With sudden violence, the gusts of air whistled forth, gaining speed until they were blasts of wind, aiming straight for the teenage witch. Sabrina desperately tried to dig the heels of her boots into the floor, but the marble provided no traction. Skirt flapping around her thighs, she tried to block her face with the Beacon, and inch forward. With horror, she saw greenish, phantom skulls with gaping maws flow from the pipes along with the wind.

Her ankles wobbled once. With a sudden snap, she lost her footing, and was blown back, slamming against the wall. Sabrina was pinned by the torrent of wind alone, unable to even shift her backpack so that the bulge of Leota's crystal ball wouldn't be digging into her spine.

Salem gave a feline cry of horror, struggling to crawl along the wall to the door. _Good boy…stay there. No need for you to get smashed up while I fight this._

Dark shapes scuttled out of nowhere, and Sabrina realized she'd been utterly wrong to believe the room had been enemy-free. Several orange-and-black monolithic spiders were approaching, somehow unhindered by the wind.

Sabrina's eyes narrowed. _Okay—no time for analyzing. Switch behind organ. Organ sending out wind that blows me away. Spiders coming that can move in wind. _The pincers of the nearest spider were rubbing together: a sign that it was preparing to go 'fishing for Sabrina' by shooting its sticky webbing at her. Her eyes widened. _Bingo!_

She lay, pinned against the wall, waiting. As if on cue, the nearest spider spat its stream of sticky web at her, and began steadily reeling her in, hoping for a good meal. As soon as Sabrina was within roughly six feet of the arachnid, its neighbor angrily shot its own stream of webbing, pulling at her furiously. _Apparently, __**he**__ wants some of the action, too._

As she was being pulled in two directions, Sabrina had slight difficulty in pulling out the Beacon. Hoping, and praying, she pulled out the Beacon, shooting repeatedly at the first spider that had hooked her. As it squealed and died, another spider, a little further back, shot its own stream at her. Turning to the second spider, Sabrina also killed it. More and more scuttled forward, each hoping to beat its neighbor to the prize.

"What are you doing?" Leota wailed, scarcely able to make herself heard over the wind. "You're going to get killed this way!"

But by the door, Salem slowly realized Sabrina's plan of attack. She would let a spider attach its stream of webbing to her and pull her closer to it. However, as there were spiders further away that also tried to pull her in, she was being dragged from spider to spider by their webbing—like how Tarzan swung from vine to vine in the jungle. As soon as another spider that was further away had hooked her, she killed the first one that hooked her, and let the second reel her in. A greedy third would scurry forward to try and steal its comrade's prey, and she would then let herself be pulled to **that** spider, killing the second.

A smirk slid onto Salem's lips. _Clever._ She seemed more confident now, with a plan of attack and a decisive goal. Of course, she lost her composure when two banshees (that **no one** had seen coming) glided towards her to attack while a spider was trying to eat her.

As she kicked at the spider's dripping jaws with her boots (careful to strike only with the heels; she didn't want to ruin them with teeth marks or spider saliva, after all), she twisted around, furiously flinging blasts of energy at the banshees. "NOT **NOW**! I'M **BUSY**!" she screamed.

As soon as she seemed within her goal of the organ, Salem watched a flicker of doubt hit her face. With a cold prickle, he realized what must have flashed through **her** mind. _When she kills this last spider, how will she be able to climb up the stairs? It will have to back up with her past the organ in order to escape these crushing winds._

With a sudden, sinister hiss, everyone halted—even the spider that had latched onto the Spirit Detective. The **largest** spider any of the party had ever seen in their lives plopped (_From the ceiling_? Salem wondered) onto the seat of the organ. It squealed and hissed, waving its forelegs in the air.

With a hiss, a long column of web shot from its mouth, twisting around Sabrina's torso. The spider that had been previously contemplating eating the blonde scuttled away, in homage to the Queen Mother of giant spiders. The queen spider hauled the Detective in towards her with surprising rapidity.

Sabrina was shocked at first, her mouth agape in a round 'o' of surprise. But her initial fright was quickly replaced with panic, as she realized that this spider would be much harder to kill than the others. Frantically, Sabrina fired blast after blast of the Beacon's magic at the huge arachnid before her. _Please work, please work!_

The spider hissed, shooting another stream of sticky webbing to partially cover the Spirit Detective's head. Half blind, Sabrina's aim was now worse than before. The webbing now partially immobilized her right arm, pinning it against her torso, and making any movement to utilize the Beacon useless.

"Sabrina, come on!" Salem screamed from the end of the room.

"What does it **look** like I'm doing?" Sabrina screamed back, twisting valiantly in the cocoon of webbing._ No good. I'm just making myself get more stuck. I've got to think of something else…_

Taking in a deep breath, Sabrina relaxed and went slack. The spider paused for a moment, puzzled. Not wasting an opportunity, Sabrina quickly released a pulse of energy from the Beacon, the sudden concentration of which quickly dissolved the webbing trapping her arm.

Gritting her teeth in a nasty smile, Sabrina pulled some of her own magic into the Beacon. "It's my turn to play now." One shot grazed the spider's head, tearing a chunk away; the second blew the beast's head clean off.

Sabrina bent over to catch her breath, resting her palms on her knees. Panting, she watched as the headless corpse of the spider wavered and fell backwards onto the organ, legs askew. With a loud _clonk_, the keyboard was compressed, and the battering winds died down, and then stopped altogether.

"…are you all right?" Leota asked quietly, from inside the backpack.

Sabrina made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat._ I somehow doubt that, given the circumstances._ "I'm fine," she said tersely, brushing the last vestiges of the webbing off of her skirt.

Legs still slightly wobbling, Sabrina climbed the nearest staircase, trying to ignore the quickly decaying and disintegrating corpse of the giant arachnid. The switch was immediately before her, paired with a portrait of a dark-haired young woman posing as Lady Macbeth. Sabrina raised an eyebrow at the eerie look of insanity in the eyes of the painting's subject. "Just the picture **I** would choose for a ballroom," she laughed under her breath. "But then, I guess the Graceys were fairly morbid…"

Shaking her head, she wearily flipped the switch. A chandelier high above the Ballroom floor burst into a thousand brilliant points of light, causing the marble of the room to warmly glow.

Salem, who had crossed to the middle of the Ballroom floor by now, suddenly stopped in his tracks. The hair on his back stood up, spreading throughout his body as he instinctively began to swell. Ears peaked, tail straight up, and hackles raised, he hissed, golden eyes dilated.

Just as suddenly, the chandelier began swaying, the lights flickering and dying.

Panicking, Sabrina ran towards her familiar. Despite being trapped in the body of one, Salem rarely acted like an actual cat. For him to use his animalistic abilities meant that something was **very** wrong.

No matter what the Witches' Council believed, when (although Drell preferred to use "**if**") Salem was granted back his original body, his powers would increase. All those years spent locked inside the body of a cat would grant him animalistic abilities, instincts, and intuition that normal witches could never claim.

That was why Sabrina was so afraid now; because Salem was sensing something she couldn't…and whatever it was most likely was something very evil.

His amber eyes blazing, Salem was facing the pipe organ. "Behind you," he growled, in a voice barely distinguishable from an animal's snarl.

She froze in panic. Her breath shuddered as Salem hissed. Slowly, grip on the Beacon rattling, Sabrina turned around.

Standing on the staircase, almost behind the organ, stood an inhumanly tall man. Even before she'd noticed the purple robes and bloodstone pin, she knew he was not human. It wasn't the pale, flat, toadlike features. It wasn't the thin, knotty fingers sparkling with the kind of rings that ancient Other Realm warlords favored…it was the sheer aura swirling about him.

Like the mist swirling around the outside of the house, this aura spoke of a power beyond human comprehension or capabilities. Being half-witch, Sabrina could feel it, and even smell it, in a strange, spiritual way. It was cold, with a bitter tang, like bleach. **This** was the pervading aura in every room, **this** was what she had fought to banish every time she learned more of the history of this very house.

It was the stench of death.

An ugly smirk played on the warlock's thin, pale lips. With a magnificent sweep of his arms, the erratically flickering lights of the chandelier abruptly died. Flames, so deep a purple that they were nearly black, flickered around the hem of his robe.

_He's very powerful_, Sabrina realized as she broke out in a cold sweat, _much more powerful than anyone thought about or gave him credit for. He's also old…very old…_ As she watched him silently, he did the same.

Cold, flat, dull green eyes surveyed the petite slip of a girl before him. They narrowed at first, scrutinizing her, as if trying to decide something. His eyes than widened fractionally in clarity: scorn, cold disdain, and sadistic amusement clearly displayed therein.

"Amusing," he noted in a cold, thin voice, "quite amusing. I had expected the wretched spirits of this Mansion to enlist the aid of a spiritual warrior, but not…this." He gestured at Sabrina, the smirk on his face becoming more apparent.

Fists slowly clenching, Sabrina could only note that his voice sounded just like she'd imagined it to be: cold, dark, derisive, and bitter.

He chuckled slowly, analyzing her again with cold appraisal. "A half-breed whelp that believes herself strong enough to control an item of power."

With cold certainty running up and down her spine like ants, Sabrina knew that this warlock was Atticus Thorne. "How do you know I'm a half-witch?" she asked slowly.

"You smell of it," he snorted. "The human filth that taints your witch blood reeks to the heavens and pollutes your aura." His eyes narrowing once more to malicious slits, he cocked his head to one side. "Has the Magic Council fallen so low as to employ worthless half-breeds? Such a shame…"

Prejudice against mixed witch-human offspring was nothing new; Sabrina had encountered it in the Other Realm before. Humans were often viewed as weak and useless, and therefore, anyone connected to them or descended from them had inherited that weak quality. But never before had she met anybody who could tell she was of mixed blood simply by reading her aura.

…_this is bad. This is **very** bad. _

But she had also never been very good at controlling her emotions, and so, the anger that arose from her old emotional wounds caused her to lash out. Sapphire eyes blazing, she lashed spiritual energy from the Beacon at him.

Thorne simply snorted contemptuously, and the hem of his robe began to twitch. Fat, dull-green pillbugs scurried from under his robes, popping and dying as the spiritual energy destroyed them and not their master.

At first bewildered, Sabrina then began to squeal with indignation as the pillbugs scurried toward her. She grimaced as she began stomping them, noting the squishiness and juiciness with which they popped.

"Useful little creatures, are they not?" Thorne laughed. "I'll depart for now, and leave you to your fun. But do not think that you can stop me," he sneered. "This house will be mine, and a half-breed such as you can do nothing to halt my plans." And with a final half-bark of laughter, the dark warlock dissolved into a pillar of flame, vanishing as abruptly as he'd come.

The lights of the chandelier flickered back on, illuminating the blonde's ashen face. Her fingers gripped the Beacon's handle tightly, leaving white marks in her skin._ I can't believe myself. I let him get away…_

A more relaxed Salem bounded up the steps, nuzzling his partner. She quickly scooped him up, cuddling him tightly against her chest. Leota was silent; perhaps she, too, had been unnerved by the sudden, unexpected appearance of Thorne.

She sat there for a while longer, cuddling her cat and mulling over the caustic words of her new enemy. _I can't let his words get to me. I've got to be stronger. _Finally, the teenage witch stood, cradling the cat in her arms. Her gaze sweeping the room, she stopped upon viewing the organ.

Seated before the organ, on the dusty, plush bench was a ghost with a familiar cape and shock of hair…

"He looks familiar," Sabrina mumbled. "But from where?"

"Let me see," Leota softly commanded from within the backpack. Sabrina swung the backpack around, opening the flap so the psychic could see. "Ahh! Herr von Baroketch!" Leota beamed. "So good to see you! How are you doing?"

The composer's shoulders tensed. "You know," he began in his nasal tone, "I don't mind the bats and the rats, or the evil spirits and monsters roaming around this place, **but**…" he suddenly whirled around, "I **do** mind being interrupted when I'm working!"

Sabrina shrank back; his snappish tone reminded her too much of Mr. Kraft.

The organist's eyes flickered to the scrap of yellowed paper Salem had fished out of the backpack. "What's that?" he demanded.

"Huh? Oh, that," Sabrina stammered, suddenly humbled. "It's your d-death certificate."

"Well, let me see it." He examined it, bushy eyebrows rising in shock. "W-what? This is **preposterous**! Me, put my work before my own **life**? Rubbish!"

'_Denial' is more than a river in Egypt, pal…_

Von Baroketch turned back to the organ, scowling. "Oh, wait, take this with you." He held out his palm, where a bright spark fizzled. It shone, and grew outward. Sabrina watched delightedly as it grew and hardened into a Soul Gem, orange, this time.

"Take this 'Soul Gem,' or whatever it is, with you." His voice dripped sarcasm, as he all but chucked it at her. "Call it what you will, but **I** say it's a distraction. I cannot be held responsible for looking after jewelry while composing. So take it and begone! Shoo!" He turned back to his organ; thin hands paused on the keyboard.

"And one more thing."

Sabrina paused from where she had been sneaking away. "Uh…yes, sir?"

"Get our Mansion back."

A smile crept onto Sabrina's lips. "Sure thing." As she turned to leave, she spotted a ghostly couple slowly waltzing back and forth on the dance floor.

"What **is** that song?" Salem mused. "It sounds familiar."

Sabrina listened to the Organist's song, trying to discern where she'd heard it. "You're right…I know I've heard this before."

"The Conservatory?" Leota gently offered.

Sabrina's eyes widened as she gasped. "Of **course**! This is the song the musicians were playing back in the Conservatory! Just a little bit more dramatic," she conceded.

"But…what song could it be?" Salem pondered.

Leota, again, was strangely quiet, her aura mists tinged a faint purple.

* * *

For those of you who remember that this is an eventual crossover with Yu Yu Hakusho, note that the similarity of Sabrina's abilities to Yusuke's abilities is not coincidental…and that's all I'll say.

The organ described in this chapter is taken directly from the ride (all of them have the same organ, based off of Disneyland's). Amusingly, the organ at Disneyland is the one used in the 1960s Disney film "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's Captain Nemo's organ. I thought that was kinda neat.

And if anyone has been wondering what "that song" is, you'll find out in two chapters. I promise it will eventually be revealed.

I use the term "Creole" to describe Leota, so I'll explain its meaning here. The term "Creole" or "Louisiana Creole" historically refers to people (of any race or of mixed race) who are descendants of people who settled in Louisiana before it became a part of the U.S. (with the 1803 Louisiana Purchase). "Creole" basically encompasses a broad cultural group of people from a variety of races, but usually who have a Spanish or French background. Although it isn't discussed in the story, Leota is racially mixed: she is of African, French, and English origin, with her ancestors having settled in Louisiana prior to it becoming a state.

Next chapter:

On to the next season! Sabrina and Salem take on the Winter Garden, hoping to survive the (literal) pitfalls it contains. As the situation over a collapsing floor worsens, can the team make it out alive?


	11. Sinister Paradise

As they stepped outside, Sabrina rubbed the side of the Beacon reverently. "I love this thing. I really love it." She grinned impishly. "Who'd have thought that I'd ever get to explore a haunted mansion, and act like a…a super-heroine? It's like an amazing video game…but real."

"Yes, well," Leota warned. "Keep that sense of proportion in mind. One small mistake here and you'll be joining us as the 1,000 inhabitant."

Salem flinched. "Let's not talk about that," he interceded hastily. "I may have nine lives, but I don't want to waste one in this dump."

The psychic bristled. "**Dump**?" she asked crisply. "You call this place a **dump**? I'll have you know that at the height of its glory days, Gracey Manor was…"

"Continuing on!" Sabrina chirped; interrupting before her two companions could begin bickering. The cat and the ghost glared at each other, but the strained expression on Sabrina's face—as if she was about to hurtle the backpack through the nearest window—enforced their silence. The next door on the left after the Ballroom turned out to be the Winter Garden.

Leota, curtly explained, feelings still slightly raw: "Its purpose was to provide a place for flowers during wintertime. Like a greenhouse, but bigger. You could stroll through it like a botanical garden."

Sabrina pursed her lips, anticipating a room full of decayed foliage. She raised her hand to the door's energy barrier, summoning the Beacon's energy to counteract and overcome it. As the resisting barrier fizzled away, she tugged at the iron door handles, pulling the doors open.

The Winter Garden was composed of large panes of glass encircling an area big enough to be a small park. Metal fence-like walls, entangled with dead vines, stretched nearly to the ceiling, bordering stone paths that twisted throughout the entire garden. Enormous statuary on pedestals were dotted throughout the park…the statuary seeming to be similar. Sabrina cocked her head, trying to decide where she'd seen the statue before.

_Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil! Of course!_ The statues here were carved in the shape of a girl. Each carried a jug that must have served as a fountain. Despite each statue being carved in a slightly different pose, they strongly reminded Sabrina of the iconic 'Bird Girl' statue associated with the novel and movie.

She stepped over to the statue nearest her, curiously examining it. On one side of the statue's base was a fire pit, positioned above a small grate. Unable to discern its purpose, Sabrina shrugged and stood up to begin looking for the light switch.

Her eyes lit upon it almost immediately; it was set to the right of the door. "That was easy," the Spirit Detective grinned, walking up the steps to reach the switch. She pulled it, smugly expecting to see lights flicker on from **somewhere**. To her utter amazement, no lights came on. But something else happened…

Fires immediately sprung to life in the fire pits…only to be nearly put out by the fountain poured upon it. Squealing with frustration and indignation, Sabrina scurried down the steps. Salem yawned, and curled up on the edge of the platform, deciding to watch. Later, he would become very grateful of his decision.

Sabrina scurried to the statue, cursing a blue streak under her breath. _Stupid statue…wasting water…pouring it on the fire that lights the room…_

Hopping onto the base, she quickly located a wheel-like crank, and began tugging at it. Remembering the adage, "Lefty, loosy, righty, tighty," she began pulling the wheel, in hopes of making the statue move.

In the back of her mind, she had briefly wondered why there had been no enemies prowling the garden, but had shoved the thought away in her intent to turn the switch on. So when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw faint gray smoke swirling at her from thin air, she wasn't totally surprised…

Sabrina frantically blasted at the snarling phantoms, while tugging desperately at the wheel. Once she was fairly certain all had been decimated, she turned her attention to the fire. She thankfully sighed; apparently, her tugging had sufficiently moved the statue's fountain away from the fire. The water now streamed down from the statue's jug, into the drain next to the fire.

Sabrina licked her lips. _I'll have to do this to every statue in the garden then. I hope there aren't too many…_

Leaping off the platform, Sabrina began making her way down the path to the nearest visible statue. Perhaps she should have wondered what the room's trial was. Perhaps she should have kept her ego slightly under check, due to her successes. But nothing could have prepared Sabrina for what happened next.

_Just a little farther…_

With a convulsive ripple, the pathway under Sabrina's feet trembled. The Detective stood, shocked, only perhaps a foot away from the end of the pathway. The pathway rippled, and shook from side to side, if it had become detached from the rest of the ground.

Terrified, Sabrina desperately tried to regain her balance, like the first time she went surfboarding.

…_Except the only thing to fall into last time was an ocean…_

Faster than she would have believed possible, the Spirit Detective felt the ground give way.

* * *

Yawning, Salem blinked amber eyes as he awoke from his five-minute powernap. _Is she done __**yet**__? I'm bored. And this balcony is cold—_

Salem's mental ramblings cut off as he found Sabrina. On a pathway leading to a statue in the garden's middle, Sabrina was standing rather uneasily. He blinked. Was she drunk again? Why couldn't she walk straight?

The pathway dropped from beneath Sabrina's feet, plummeting to the bowels of the earth, perhaps. Sabrina hovered in the air for a split-second, mouth open in shock and horror. Then, with cruel gravity rushing in, she dropped and disappeared.

Salem screamed, leaping from the balcony's edge. "SABRINA! LEOTA!"

…for the psychic's crystal ball was safely tucked inside the Spirit Detective's backpack…

Salem darted towards the pit, his heart pounding crazily in his feline frame.

* * *

**~~` "…Can you wait until I finish my milk?" Sabrina stared in horror at the cat on the stool. "Did the cat just talk?" Sabrina whimpered, beseeching her aunts to tell her she WASN'T dreaming things. "Yes, and get this stupid hat off me," Salem grumbled. ~~`**

**~~` Sabrina grumbled as she rooted for the missing puzzle piece. Salem sauntered in, a smirk on his kitty face. "Looking for something?" His supercilious manner made Sabrina do a double-take. "Give it here, cat." "What about a reward? Shouldn't I get a reward first?" Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Great. I'm being blackmailed by my own cat." ~~`**

**~~` Circe glared at the cat before her, before switching tactics. "You're a brave kitty," she purred. "But you don't have to remain that way: Brave, or a kitty." You might keep that in mind." With the innate grace that was only hers, Sabrina darted forward and scooped up Salem, cradling him against her chest, shielding him with her body. Her eyes flashed as she regarded the enchantress with a stony, angry glare. ~~`**

**~~` Sabrina lay on the couch, the ivory linen nightgown and dark afghan twisted around her figure. "You should try to get some sleep," Salem admonished as he stretched out upon the top of the sofa. "I don't know if I can," Sabrina whimpered. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of Circe's hand, reaching through the mirror, reasserted itself with astonishing vividness. Salem stroked her hair with a paw. "Sure you can. Just relax, and remember that I've got your back." ~~`**

_**I've got your back…I'll keep watch over you…**_

_**I'll make sure nothing happens to you…**_

_**SABRINA!**_

* * *

"DON'T DIE!" Salem found himself screaming.

He skidded to the edge of the pit, heart thudding like an out-of-control bongo drum. He could barely see, for some reason…what was that mist before him? Was it mist? Was it tears? …No, it couldn't be tears…he **never** cried.

He, Salem Saberhägen, one of the most powerful warlocks Europe had **ever** produced, who had come pretty **damn** close to conquering the Mortal Realm, did **not** cry. This was a greenhouse or whatever, right? It must be rather hot in here, thereby causing moisture to condense…or something…

_Sabrina…how can I…how can I do this? I can't beat this place by myself. I need you here. We're a **team**! You're the first person that I ever learned to trust, so don't betray that trust by dying! You **can't**!_

Trembling, he peered down into the abyss. He didn't know if he would find her broken body, or whether he would simply see an endless hole, but either way…

Nothing.

A pit of darkness.

Nothing.

She was gone.

His legs trembled, and his entire body threatened to buckle under him. "No…" he whimpered. The cat closed his eyes. "She's gone…"

"I'm not dead yet!"

He whipped his head up. Hanging by her fingers from the edge of the pit on the other side was…

Sabrina.

She turned her head a little in his direction, giving him that crazy grin she wore when she had just completed something impossible. _And now, she's cheated Death…_

"You silly cat, did you think I was ready to die yet?" Her teeth flashed. "I can't be killed that easily. Have a little faith in me."

Salem stared unbelievingly. "I…thought you'd…"

Sabrina chuckled. She then paused, and heaved, climbing onto the walkway before her. She sighed and rubbed her bicep muscles. "I never thought that there was a point to pull-ups in gym class, but…"

Leota chuckled. "Nice to see you were worried about me, Salem."

"I…" Salem started, confused.

The psychic shook her head. "I understand. You've known her longer." Sabrina dusted herself off, and began to run.

Salem could only sit in amazement and watch as she kept running, now carefully jumping over bucking walkway sections as they dropped mere seconds after she had safely landed somewhere else.

_How is it possible for her to just keep going? She nearly died. Sabrina just barely avoided falling to her death and she's just running along on her merry way like nothing happened._

Sabrina hopped onto the statue base in the middle of the Garden, and turned the crank as she had the first. The cat silently watched as the girl completed her task, and hopped down, choosing another pathway.

_If I were Sabrina, I would have stopped by now; I would have simply quit and found some way, **any** way, to go home. And if, for some reason I couldn't, I might have gone mad by now._

She carefully jogged down the pathways; he could hear the steady, rhythmic clicking of her boot heels against the stone paths.

Slowly, Salem padded back to the balcony steps, in the air of one who has not yet recovered from a shock. He sat, with an air of doubt and guilt, awaiting her return. After what seemed like forever, she came back from the last statue, a satisfied smile gracing her features.

_What has kept her going? Why hasn't she succumbed to the evil aura that the house exudes? This place is dark and frightening and dangerous, but Sabrina just charges from one room to another._

She climbed up the staircase; carefully avoiding stepping on the cat, and excitedly flipped the switch. The bonfires on the statues' bases lit up with even more brilliancy than before, while the huge metal walls slid down into their bases, leaving only iron spikes set in a concrete base, behind. The walls had apparently concealed trees, bushes, and other plants.

_There are no flowers here; they would be too out of place in a house of death. Or do they refuse to bloom in the shadow of evil? Maybe they could never live. Maybe…they would wither and die without being born, for where there is only death, there is no life…_

As the blond witch came down the steps, Salem jumped onto her shoulder, as he had before. As the team carefully walked along the paths (Sabrina casually stopping to admire trees hung with faintly glowing lanterns), Salem dug his claws into the fabric of her dress.

The usual monsters came snapping after them: banshees (or Lost Souls, or whatever Leota liked to call them—they were still banshees to Salem), giant spiders, their cousins, the smaller poisonous spiders, and the ever-present ghosts, stretching, swiping, hoping to drag unsuspecting mortals down to the Netherworld.

_But why don't they scare me any more?_ Salem wondered. _Is it because of the strength we've gained, that we subconsciously know we can defeat them with the least effort? Well, I say 'we,' but I suppose I mean Sabrina_, he admitted to himself, grudgingly. _I'm of little use here. If only I had my body and powers back, __**then**__ I could be of use. But what can one small cat do?_

He was silent as she found a scrap of a Death Certificate. He barely noticed the new aroma of the room: the strange smell of vegetation, a faint whiff of earth and dried flowers.

The only spirit in the room turned out to be a hearty-looking elderly man near the entrance, leaning on a shovel and surveying the room. Sabrina paused as they exited, clearly wondering if she should make friendly overtures to him. With the exception of Elizabeth and the Soul Gem holders, none of the ghosts had acknowledged their existence.

The gardener shifted his stance slightly, staring at the flowerbeds. "Well, the flowers are doing well, and the weather's fine, so that's good," he murmured. "But it's a shame that nobody alive's here to appreciate 'em now…"

_What flowers is he talking about?_ Salem wondered as Sabrina began walking out. _There are __**no**__ flowers here; anyone can see that._ He frowned as he watched the gardener shift on his stance again, muttering to himself about when to next prune the roses. _Could he possibly see something we can't? Is there that big a difference between the living and the dead?_

_Can he see the roses that may come? If we succeed in throwing off this shadow which clouds the Mansion, maybe life can begin again here._

_I think I see it now. I see the reason that compels Sabrina to fight these monsters, trying to save a mansion full of ghosts. This mansion is the battleground for a struggle between good and evil. And the prospect of winning—of saving these souls, and defeating this insane bastard—keeps her going, despite the darkness and madness._

_But will she prevail?_

* * *

There are two potentials here, as Salem points out: the potential for good, and for evil. If you're a fan of Phantom Manor, which is the sort-of equivalent of the Haunted Mansion (only, it's in Disneyland Paris, set in the Wild West, and has a more concrete storyline than the Haunted Mansion), you'll understand this, as it's a parallel to the conflict between the Bride and the Phantom.

The flashbacks Salem had (in bold) were taken from the book series: from #1, "Sabrina, the Teenage Witch," #15, "Harvest Moon," and #18, "I'll Zap Manhattan." I picked ones that sort of highlighted Sabrina and Salem's rather complex relationship. The authors of these are: David Cody Weiss, Bobbi JG Weiss, and Mel Odom.

And yes, in my opinion, Salem **would** be worried about Sabrina before he would be worried about Leota. The two of them are practically family, and really do work as a team. Their relationship is beyond that of a witch and her familiar, or a student and her mentor: they're friends, too.

And for those curious to know just what the song I keep mentioning is, the next chapter will reveal it definitely.

Next chapter:

What would a visit to a haunted house be without the requisite Graveyard? Some familiar faces pop up while Sabrina tries to avoid being killed by the Graveyard's current impersonator of _Lord of the Rings'_ Gollum.


	12. Buried Secrets

Exiting the Winter Garden, Sabrina thought how strange it was, that one moment, she was standing in a stone-shod garden, and the next found her standing in a plush, austere hallway. _With the company of those sentient statues, of course. I can't forget the moving busts._

She sighed slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she scanned the hallway. "Where do we go next, Leota?"

The aura within crystal ball shifted and rippled as Leota thought. "Well, we've covered the first floor, so the next logical step would be to go to the Upstairs Hallway so we can start on the second floor." She stopped for a moment. "The door is the last one in the hallway, on your right," she added thoughtfully.

Sabrina gazed at the Hallway's end, not enjoying the look of it. The white-painted wood and yellow wallpaper abruptly changed into a harsh stone doorway, most likely leading to the outside: a carriage house or a gazebo or something, or maybe to the basement. But, true to Leota's word, there was a door right next to the stone arch.

Sabrina eagerly reached for the knob. _Anything to get away from this tomb-like door. I don't like the look of it._ A sharp shock jolted her arm. "Ouch!"

Leota sighed. "Then my suspicions have been confirmed. We're not done with the first floor yet."

"What do you mean?" Salem demanded. "You said we were done. What other rooms could there possibly be?"

"You're standing in front of it," Leota informed them.

Wincing, Sabrina turned to face the stone archway. "You don't mean there. That's not a room, is it?"

"Not exactly. We have to explore the grounds. Come on!"

The archway led to a metal door, crackling with Thorne's trademark energy barrier. To Sabrina's disappointment, it melted before her fingers. _I don't want to go outside! It's bound to be as dangerous—or even more—than in here!_

Once she'd tugged the creaky iron door open, the small group stepped into a cold chamber constructed of rough-hewn stone. Torches mounted in black metal brackets lit themselves spontaneously upon their arrival.

"It looks like we're heading for the dungeons," Salem pessimistically remarked.

Sabrina walked forward as the chamber indicated, then turned to the right. The sound of her boots echoed off the stone walls, reminding her of the passage from Leota's boudoir into the rest of the Mansion.

Ghosts began swarming from the wall in front of them. Salem watched with narrowed eyes as Sabrina fired blast after blast from the Beacon, not halting until she was quite sure no more were coming. Sabrina shivered. She could feel a cold draft breezing from the entrance to their left.

She bit her lip. _Don't have a choice, do I?_ Wrapping her arms around her torso, she began walking forward. She walked slowly, however, to postpone her arrival at whatever awaited on the other side of the door.

Sabrina had no idea what time it was—if time even had a concrete meaning in this place. None of the mansion's clocks seemed to work, as they continually pointed to 'thirteen o'clock.' But she knew it was sometime after nightfall, for a glance out the windows in previous rooms had informed her that a dark gray, nearly black, pallor blanketed the sky.

How late, she couldn't tell. The Detective had no idea of knowing how much time had passed while she had been on the case; hours, certainly, had flown by, but how many? One thing was for sure: she was **not** going to school tomorrow…provided she **lived** to tomorrow.

_I wonder what would happen to this place in the daytime? Would it be any less scary? Will the sun shine the next day? Or will it be dark and gloomy, like today? I'd find out if I took a nap…_

She rubbed at her eyes, feeling as though invisible weights were tugging at them.

The idea of a nap was tempting, but two factors hindered Sabrina from a much-deserved break: one, the very fact that she was in a **haunted** mansion, and second, that the few hours' sleep she might get would be sufficient for Thorne to either undo her work, or devise some new way to bedevil her._ How do I know that he can't just track me down? Plus, I can't just stop a case because I get tired. I have to keep going and solve this case. I have to._

Shaking herself from her reverie, Sabrina turned the door's handle stepped outside. It was raining. Not enough to make her sopping wet, but enough of a drizzle to ensure discomfort. It also appeared that she had stepped into some sort of graveyard.

"Lovely," she muttered under her breath.

She began forward, eyes scanning her new surroundings. The cemetery was vast, extending for what could be an acre to her untrained eye, but the portion she had stepped into was walled in. In this little section (_The family plot, maybe_, she guessed), the pathway leading from the door she'd exited forked to the far wall, and wound around a knoll in the middle. Graves were arranged haphazardly, with small gnarled trees keeping silent watch. Her eyes rested on a plot of land, strangely bare, to the western side of the Graveyard. _Strange…why would there be no graves there? They seem to have had no shortage of corpses to bury here…_ She chuckled to herself with grim humor.

Sabrina decided to take the road that led up to the top of the knoll. Lips thinned, she hunched over slightly in an effort to keep herself dry, and set forward.

While examining the Graveyard, the Spirit Detective had failed to notice a marble bust on a pedestal to her right. She had also failed to notice the flickering movement of the stone eyes when she stopped by it.

"Hey! Hey!"

Thinking it was Salem or Leota calling to her, Sabrina continued on.

"Hey, I'm talking to you! Don't move away!"

Confused, Sabrina stopped. "Salem, was that you?" she whispered, in the same tone she'd used, asking him if he'd opened the front gate.

"No," he whispered back, shifting in her backpack.

"L-leota?"

"No, honey child," Leota smiled, having already recognized the voice.

Sabrina's mouth moved for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. "Then w-"

"That would be me."

Sabrina turned around, to face the marble bust on the pedestal, finally noticing it. Her jaw dropped slightly. "What the-"

The bust winked at her. "Yes'm, that would be me."

Sabrina's knees trembled as she felt like collapsing on them. The bust was of a man with a lean, oval-shaped face, a thin mustache, and pomaded hair slicked back. "No need to be alarmed, miss; I just need you to do me a favor."

Salem had crawled out of the backpack, and was quivering on her shoulder, huddling next to her head. _I really hope he doesn't say anything inopportune right now…_

"What kind of favor?" she tried to ask casually. _If this involves another hitchhiker in my backpack, the answer's __**no.**_

"Can you wake up the members of my singing group for me? They're scattered around the Graveyard, and you see," he chuckled, "I'm not exactly in a condition to go find them."

"Your singing group," Sabrina repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes, indeed, we're known as the 'Phantom Five'." He winked again. "Came up with the name myself."

"No, you didn't!" came an indignant cry from her backpack. "**I** did, and you had better take that back, Thurl!"

Sabrina carefully opened her backpack, lifting out the crystal ball, which she carefully cradled in her arms. Leota, looking lovely as ever, gave 'Thurl' a petulant pout.

Sabrina gave the psychic a quizzical look. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

Leota sighed discontentedly. "Sabrina and Salem, meet Theodore Gracey. Thurl, meet Sabrina Spellman and Salem…erm…"

"Saberhägen," Salem supplied.

'Thurl'…or 'Theodore Gracey'…looked at the cat interestedly. "Is that Dutch?"

"Scandinavian, actually."

"**HELLO**?" Sabrina cried indignantly. "Can **anyone** explain this to me?"

Leota sighed again, much like Drell did when disciplining Sabrina after one of her misadventures. "This is Theodore Gracey…former Master George Gracey's younger brother, and Edward Gracey's uncle."

"Call me Uncle Thurl," he insisted.

Leota glowered at the interruption. "But family and close friends knew him as 'Thurl.' He and some friends…"

"And Algie, too, don't forget."

"…As well as his son, Algernon," Leota gritted, "were members of what you'd call a 'barbershop quintet.' They came to me for a name, and because the unusual air that Gracey Manor had—even back then—I suggested the name 'the Phantom Five'. And would you stop interrupting me?"

"And it was an excellent name, too, Lee," Uncle Theodore soothed, ignoring her demand. "Our fans loved it. And then we got killed and turned-"

"That will be enough for now," Leota interrupted hastily. "Find the other members, you say? All right Thurl, we'll be back. And don't call me 'Lee'!" she hissed as the Detective turned to leave.

Uncle Thurl watched the odd group leave, as he softly began to hum. "I wonder…" he mused.

Meanwhile, on the top of the knoll, purple fire quietly enveloped a small heap of bones lying in the broken remains of a coffin. The coffin lay in a small, shallow trench that must have served as a hasty grave. No tombstone marked the resting place… an unhallowed grave.

The bones carefully reassembled themselves. Leaping from its grave, the newly reformed skeleton gave a dry hiss of a laugh. It snatched up the lid of its coffin, holding it as a shield. It laughed: a hideous, dry, cackling sound.

"Sa-_BRI-_na," it giggled in its dry, hissing voice. "Come, Sa-_BRI_-na."

* * *

The Spirit Detective, in the meantime, had wandered down the pathway, and discovered the bust of…

"Ned Nub," Sabrina read. "Huh. Uh…time to wake up!" She stared blankly at Ned's small, round impassive face. Nothing happened. "Ummm…hello?" Sabrina tried again. "Good…er…evening!" Still no response—the statue was as lifeless as a statue should be. Sabrina groaned and slouched forward, tired. She leaned against the statue, resting a hand on its base. Suddenly, Ned's face flickered, becoming mobile.

"Thank you, dear," he crooned.

Sabrina blinked. "You're welcome." Ned began to stretch his neck this way and that, humming as though out of practice. She shrugged, while Salem snickered.

Leota grinned. "This should get interesting."

A few seconds after the group left Ned, Sabrina skidded to a halt. A noise like pieces of a terra cotta pot being dropped on the floor filled her ears, along with a high-pitched voice whispering, "Sa-_BRI_-na…"

Sabrina shook. "What **was** that?"

Leota pursed her lips. "No time to investigate. We've got to hurry and find the other members of the Phantom Five. I have a feeling that Thurl and his boys may be the key to our getting out of the Graveyard."

Biting her lips to avoid screaming in frustration, Sabrina continued down the road. The group soon discovered…

"Phineas P. Pock," Sabrina read with slight distaste, eyeing the pockmarked, weak-chinned face of Phineas._ Well, I guess the combination of dashing good looks and musical talent wasn't really invented until the boy bands of today…_

"Alliterative," Salem noted.

"So…should I just try touching the statue again?" Sabrina mused, ignoring the cat.

"That would be my guess. Try it and see what happens," urged Leota.

Upon brushing her fingers against the statue's base, Phineas' formerly motionless face twitched in life. "My thanks to you," he sang, much like his friend Ned had done. And just like Ned, he quickly ignored Sabrina to begin exercising his vocal cords.

Rolling her eyes slightly, the teenage witch began walking away, before she suddenly halted. The strange noise of something—stone, terra cotta or bone—being dropped filled Sabrina's ears. _What IS that? Where is it coming from? And who's laughing? Is it one of the Phantom Five? That laughter is so creepy…_

She shivered as they hurried on down the path, seeking out the next singing bust. The small group found him soon enough.

"Hmmm…Cousin Algernon," Sabrina read from his name plaque.

"Little Algie!" Leota smiled in recognition.

Sabrina and Salem scrutinized this bust. 'Little Algie' had a skinnier face than his father, with thinner hair, and premature wrinkles.

"My gratitude is yours," he warbled in a surprisingly high-pitched tone.

"Aww! Sabrina, you've got a bevy of admirers here," Salem teased.

"You know what? Bite me."

"Yum." The cat teasingly licked his chops.

Sabrina sighed, and stiffened as she listened to the strange rattling noise again. Failing to guess what it could possibly be, she bit her lip and moved on._ Is it my imagination or did it sound like it was getting closer?_

The last bust, nearly at the top of the knoll, was of…

"Rollo Rumkin." Rollo's square face and prominent chin was a face only a mother could love (with his name being the kind only a mother would think of). "Well, you're the last one, so here goes!"

"My unending thanks…"

Suddenly, as one great swell of voice, the Phantom Five crooned together. "Sabrina—thank you!" Torches placed near the door to the house burst into flame, and lanterns flickered from the posts where they kept watch over these beloved dead. Under the Spirit Detective's feet, the ground shook and swelled as the Phantom Five launched into song:

"_When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake, spooks come out for a swinging wake, happy haunts materialize and began to vocalize… grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!_"

"That's it! **That's** the song I kept hearing!"

"_Now don't close your eyes and don't try to hide, or a silly specter may sit by your side; shrouded in a daft disguise, they pretend to terrorize, grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!_"

"It's somewhat of a favorite among the residents," Leota explained. "We feel it embodies our unique philosophy of death."

"_As the moon climbs high o'er the old oak tree, spooks a'rive for the midnight spree; creepy creeps with eerie eyes stay to shriek and harmonize…grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!_"

"Catchy," Salem remarked, his tail lashing in time.

"_When you hear the knell of a requiem bell, weird glows gleam where spirits dwell; restless bones etherialize, rise as spooks of ev'ry size… If you would like to join our jamboree, there's a simple rule that's compulsory; mortals pay a token fee. Rest in peace, the haunting's free…so hurry back, we'd like your com-pa-ny!_"

"It's wonderful," Sabrina whispered as the voices died. "In a…weird way."

Leota smiled. "In a way, they give this place character, huh?"

"I don't see what's so wonderful," Salem muttered.

Sabrina playfully swatted him. "Jealous."

On the other side of the Graveyard, whilst the Phantom Five sang, a building had risen from below ground, into the empty patch of green Sabrina had commented on. The building waited, silently, for its first visitors in years to come…

"What do you think that rumbling was?" Sabrina asked. _It felt like an earthquake, but it couldn't have been…_

"Bog gas?" Salem quipped. "You know what they say about all that air."

"What, that you're full of it?" Leota remarked sarcastically. "I'm guessing we unlocked the next…er…'room.' If it's what I think it is, we need to go over to the far side of the cemetery, near that old oak tree."

"I'll head there in just a minute," Sabrina asserted. "I just want to climb this little hill to get a better vantage point, that's all." Not heeding Leota's grumbling, the blonde climbed the cobblestone path winding up the hill.

Sabrina's ears picked up the same sound of broken terra cotta shards being dropped onto a stone surface…or something like it. The top of the hill **did** provide a rather good view of the Graveyard, and Sabrina was able to pick out a dark building to the west that she hadn't seen before. "Oh, **that's** what happened…" she murmured.

"Uh, Sabrina?" Salem interrupted, his voice wary and dark.

"Yeah?" she replied, not paying full attention.

"We have company."

Sabrina paused, turning to scan the area.

A fiendish cackle drifted in the air. A skeleton, carrying a coffin lid, climbed out of a heap of nearby shrubbery, a small pile of bones in his other hand. "Sa-_BRI_-na…" it called, voice filled with malice.

Normally, Sabrina would have screamed, and immediately teleported herself away. It is not to say that she had become deadened to the horrors provided by the Mansion, but that she was becoming more and more acclimated to it. She was almost used to monsters leaping out from every corner, stretching to claw her fragile body to shreds.

But instead, she fired a blast of energy from the Beacon, muttering a curse when the skeleton ducked behind the coffin lid to block it. The Spirit Detective paused, unsure of what to do next. She ducked nonetheless when the skeleton lowered its shield to throw a handful of sharp-looking bones at her.

Popping up, she decided to take no chances. "TAKE THIS!" she shouted, withdrawing more energy than she had previously. With a rapidity that surprised even herself, she flung the pulsing mass of spiritual energy towards her enemy. Sabrina's heart sped as she watched the skeleton fall to the ground, its bones loosely collapsing in a disjointed pile. The coffin lid clattered to the ground, now useless.

Sabrina cautiously edged forward, toeing the remains. The bones crumbled into dust.

"So, that was the thing doing that creepy laughing?" she asked, voice shaking.

"Reminded me of that creepy Gollum guy from _Lord of the Rings_," Salem noted. "He sure had that Andy Serkiss imitation down pat."

Sabrina gave him a look.

"_Precioussss_…"

Sabrina, shivering against the cold drizzle that still fell, traipsed up and down the slopes of the Graveyard, searching for the best path to reach the strange building. She sneezed. "I'm going to catch my death of cold out here," she muttered, shivering again. "Well, either out here or in there," she mumbled disconsolately. Not even the scrap of a Death Certificate they found could cheer her up.

Sabrina looked expectantly at the sky. _It's still raining. I'd hoped that it was part of Thorne's nastiness, but it seems that Mother Nature decided to be nasty herself today…_

"Why don't we visit Thurl for a moment, honey?" Leota suggested, as if trying to remove the girl's mind from unpleasant thoughts.

On the way to the Graveyard's entrance, they stopped by another trio—of ghosts, that is. The girl, cat, and spirit in a crystal ball stared at the three ghosts before them.

One portly fellow was dressed in a top hat and cape, carrying a carpetbag. The second of his two friends was tall and skeletal in a tattered suit, and the third was extremely short and hairy, with a ball and chain around his foot, and a beard to rival Rip Van Winkle's.

Upon seeing the group of (mostly) living creatures, they immediately stuck out their thumbs in the manner of a hitchhiker.

Leota sighed in mock-exasperation. "What do you fellows want now?"

"What, indeed, madam?" asked the portly ghost eagerly. "Sojourning in this provincial Graveyard, my dear lady, has become so drearily **tedious** over the past century, that we have begun to investigate opportunities of…"

"Can we come with you?" asked the shortest ghost. "Become right boring, this 'as."

Sabrina blinked. _And I was worried about the singing busts wanting to come along…_

Leota rolled her eyes. "The answer is no, fellows." She turned to her companions. "Sabrina, Salem, I'd like you to meet Phineas, Ezra, and Gus, our residential Hitchhiking Ghosts."

"A pleasure," Ezra noted, as he tipped his hat at Sabrina.

She bobbed a quick curtsey, grateful that at least **some** of the ghosts were paying attention to her, even if it was just to ask a favor. "I'm afraid, gentlemen," she began, "that we're going for a quick jaunt on the grounds, and then returning to the house. Our…er…mission…requires us to not leave for some time," she explained, trying to choose her words carefully, desperately trying not to insult them.

"Oh." Phineas looked crestfallen.

"Well," Gus shrugged, "allers next time, eh?"

"I suppose," Sabrina hazarded, shooting a glance at Salem as if to say, _"Keep quiet!"_ The cat gave her a slightly baleful look, then yawned and stretched slightly, as if to show his complete indifference.

"Well, I shall bid you good evening, ladies," Ezra tipped his hat and slightly bowed.

Sabrina curtseyed slightly and Leota bobbed her head as the little group went off. "It's weird," Sabrina mused as they headed down the path to the stone doorway at the side of the house, "that Ezra—the scariest-looking one—should turn out to be the best-mannered of them all."

Leota gave her a small smile as they neared Uncle Thurl's niche. "That just goes to show you, that like in the real world, things aren't always what they seem."

As soon as the group re-assembled in front of Uncle Thurl, he congratulated them on having awakened the members of the quintet. "If only…" he muttered.

"What is it, Uncle Theodore?" Sabrina asked, having grown slightly fond of the singer.

"Miss Sabrina, could you do me another favor? Would it be too much for you to pick up the rest of my group and move them here?"

Sabrina's face went pale. "**Move** them?"

Nearly a half-hour later, Sabrina finished lugging the last bust and stand to Uncle Theodore's position, carefully arranging them.

"Perfect," Theodore beamed. "Now…"

"No more favors, Thurl," Leota warned, "the girl has work to do."

"Well, I just wanted to thank her for her help, and maybe sing her a little something," Theodore replied, in a mock-hurt tone. The other members of the group murmured in agreement.

"What about that song you sang before?" Sabrina asked. "What was the title…" she frowned.

"_Grim, Grinning Ghosts_?" Theodore supplied helpfully.

Sabrina snapped her fingers. "That's it."

"Your wish, my dear, is our command," Theodore nodded, and began the warm-up. The Phantom Five, at long last reunited, began humming, lost in their own world. Slowly, they entered into the macabre, yet cheerful tune.

"Thanks!" Sabrina chirped. She pouted upon not receiving an answer, the statues now solely focused on harmonizing. "All the ghosts keep doing that. It kinda ticks me off."

"It isn't you," Leota soothed. "They just happen to be sort of lost in their own little worlds—interaction between the spiritual and physical planes are difficult for the weaker ghosts."

Sabrina paused. "Goodbye," she whispered to the Phantom Five.

As her group walked further down the path, the busts stopped singing, and smiled after her.

"You think she can do it?" Ned wondered, turning slightly to Phineas and Rollo.

"I'm positive," Theodore said firmly. "If anyone can free us from this curse, then it's Sabrina Spellman. Mark my words."

* * *

A fan favorite: the ever-popular Singing Busts. They actually are named "the Phantom Five," and do have the names I used above. (Having "Uncle Theodore" as Edward Gracey's uncle was a flight of fancy on my part.) The voice actor of the main bust (the one I designated as Theodore Gracey) is none other than the legendary Thurl Ravenscroft, whose name I used in association with his character. (Thurl was also the voice of Tony the Tiger from the Frosted Flakes commercials!)

"Grim Grinning Ghosts" is the Haunted Mansion theme song, with music by Buddy Baker, and the lyrics by X. Atencio.

The Hitchhiking Ghosts have finally made their appearance! Yes, they _are_ named Phineas, Ezra, and Gus. Which one's your favorite? Mine's Gus, I think, because of the Haunted Mansion movie. "He must be psychic!"

Next chapter:

In the Mausoleum, Sabrina is put to the test: can she withstand a gauntlet of horrors until the bell tolls? More importantly, can she withstand the calf-deep sewage that covers the lower levels?


	13. Strange Memories

The group had not known what to expect in searching for whatever next room they had unlocked. Indeed, none of them were even sure of where to start. "Are you **sure** you know where the next room could be, Leota?" Sabrina asked for approximately the ninth time.

Leota scowled at the Spirit Detective. "I'm positive. I'm picking up an aura that's lingering on the grounds. Therefore, we need to still stay here, as we must have unfinished work."

Salem nuzzled Sabrina's neck, squirming slightly in her embrace. "What about checking out the bare spot? You know, that unused patch of grass that we saw earlier. It's as good a place to start as any."

Agreeing with the cat (as she and Leota rarely did), Sabrina switched to the path that had led the group to the small clearing.

Interestingly enough, it was no longer a small clearing.

A small, almost circular, stone building now stood in its center. A set of broad stone steps led to the door, which was guarded on either side by enormous bronze figures, darkened with age. The shrouded figures held unlit torches; one figure's arm was outstretched, as if to emphasize the massive metal door.

"The Mausoleum," Leota whispered, in a tone of near reverence. "I can't believe I almost forgot about it."

Salem blinked. "Why would they have a mausoleum when they also have a graveyard?"

"The Mausoleum was reserved for members of the Gracey family only," Leota informed him.

"Then why not just bury them in the yard with everybody else?" Salem persisted.

"Because it was better protection," Sabrina explained. "In some parts of Louisiana-and New Orleans especially-the water level is so high, and there's such a propensity for flooding, that most people aren't buried underground; they're buried in mausoleums aboveground. The water in the soil causes bodies to decay faster. Given that there's so many rivers so close to the house, I'm not sure how high the water table is here. The fact that there are so many people buried out here shows that either this is an old graveyard; or that the people buried there couldn't afford a better tomb; or that they were buried in such a hurry, there was no time for a better resting place."

"Oh." Salem blinked.

Sabrina eyed the building with a mixture of admiration and distaste. "The building's beautiful…in that Southern Gothic way…but I'd still rather not go in. I'm getting creepy vibes from looking at it."

"Maybe," Salem offered, "you'd prefer to skip the rest of this and be buried here; I'm sure Thorne would love to arrange it."

"Salem, this is not the time for any such talk," Leota admonished. _The last thing we need is for her to get cold feet, especially when we're this far involved in the game. But then again, if she'd wanted to leave, she could have done so already. She might have gotten in trouble with her boss, but they could have arranged for a more powerful witch or warlock to come. Maybe she __**will**__ see this through…_

Sabrina sighed, glancing at the cat, and then set her jaw and took a step forward.

The torches in the statues' hands immediately leaped to life. The blazing flames threw flickering light onto the Mausoleum, and the inscription on the door. The blond witch climbed the stairs, and carefully brushed some dust off of the inscription. "_Non Omnis Moriar_," she carefully read. "It's Latin...but that was never my best subject."

"It's the Gracey family's motto. It means, '_I will not completely die_'," Leota helpfully explained.

"Cheerful," Salem noted. He paused, considering. "Does that mean there are zombies?" he asked with an eager note in his voice.

"Let's hope not, for all our sakes," Sabrina muttered. "I suppose we don't really have a choice, but to go in." She eyed the shrouded figures with apprehension. _I wonder if these are going to move, like the marble busts in the graveyard._

The door was closed with a heavy deadbolt. Very close to having rusted together, the bolt and lock had obviously not been touched in decades. Sabrina strained and pulled, even having to prop one booted foot against the doorjamb for leverage. Salem and Leota—who obviously could offer no assistance—sat on the steps and watched, like they were viewers at a movie.

Finally, she managed to twist the bolt sideways and sort of 'unscrew' it from its position. The heavy bronze door swung forward slowly, the torchlight sending malevolent shadows to dance on the etched surface.

The doorway had concealed a stone passageway leading downward into darkness, like a shaft into the bowels of the earth. Sabrina noted the contrast between the decorative etchings of the arch supporting the ceiling, and the primitive stone slabs serving as the staircase itself.

Sighing and picking up her companions, Sabrina carefully began her descent into darkness. Salem gently padded behind the Detective, as she held up the Beacon to try and provide sufficient light. _The last thing I want is to slip and pitch down these stairs. I don't have the patience or time to deal with a broken neck right now._

The steps seemed to go on forever, as Salem complained. He finally leapt onto Sabrina's backpack for a free ride, the girl complaining under his weight. "I swear, Salem, you're just so incredibly—_EWW_!"

Salem flinched. "I'm not **that** gross, am I? I mean, **all** cats do that-"

"No, no! The **floor**! It's…"

"Water," Leota explained. "It's a combination, I suppose, of swamp water, mud, and maybe a little sewage."

"Whatever it is, it's **disgusting**," Sabrina frowned. "And rather unhygienic. This can't be good for my boots."

The water was calf-deep and smelled foul. After a few minutes of groaning about the smell, she pinched her nose and calmed down enough to raise the Beacon to view her surroundings.

She was in some sort of crypt, or, rather, a combination of a sewer and a crypt. The room was made of antiqued marble, with moss and other forms of plant life hanging down the walls and ceiling. The lighting would have been more or less nonexistent, but for the Beacon.

Sabrina blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face. "Beautiful."

"This is the Mausoleum's sub-level. There used to be a raised walkway to the interior, but so many things have been broken and destroyed…" Leota continued at the slightly disgusted look on Sabrina face. "Normally, the water level's not so high," she apologized. "But it's flooded so much over the past few years…"

Sabrina snorted as she raised a boot to see how much damage had been done. _Not too much, but they'll need a good wipe-down with a damp cloth. Then again, the smell will probably seep into them._

She carefully sloshed forward, trying to peer into the corners of the room with the Beacon's light. The only thing in the room was the large set of double doors across from the staircase. Trying to even out her breathing, the witch waded across the water, and tried to determine how dirty the handles were. Sabrina dropped her fingers, and tried not to breathe through her nose. She reached out a hesitant finger, and gently touched the door handle.

Mocking laughter filled the air. Sabrina whirled around, desperately trying to discern the source. _Where is it coming from? We're the only ones here! Or…are we?_

"**Foolish child,**" Thorne's voice laughed, mockery and malice dripping from its tone, "**do you think you can withstand these horrors until the bell tolls?**"

"I don't like the sound of that," Salem muttered, as he burrowed into the backpack. The laughter faded away as the ceiling rumbled briefly.

Sabrina, back to the door, scanned the room desperately. _What horrors? What's going on?_

In the corner of the room, a large…thing…dropped from the ceiling to the ground. Sabrina's eyes widened to the size of saucers as it lumbered forward briefly.

A dull shade of blue, it was squat and scaly, leaning on its 'forelegs', or arms, or whatever one would consider them. To Sabrina, it looked like an overgrown gargoyle. It rocked back on its hind feet, beating its chest and howling like a gorilla. It stopped and grunted, pounding a fist into the floor. A small bunch of bones flipped up from the bottom of the floor, and quickly assembled themselves into a skeleton monkey. Screeching, it skittered across the floor towards the girl in black.

Her eyes focused on the huge monstrosity in the corner of the room, Sabrina realized that it could only be one thing:

"BALROG!"

Screaming, she began blasting the Beacon in its direction. "Uh, Sabrina," Salem quipped, "evil monkey at twelve o'clock."

Not listening, Sabrina fired a powerful blast of soul energy in the balrog's direction. _What does it take to kill this thing?_ She bit her lip as she fired a second blast at it. When nothing happened, she angrily fired a third. Wide-eyed, Sabrina watched as the balrog gave a groan, swayed, and fell on the floor with a mighty _crash_.

Panting, she leaned against the door. A sudden screeching caught her attention, and she looked down. A skeleton monkey stood before her, head cocked to the side. It 'smiled,' baring sharp-looking fangs.

Sabrina raised her boot, and crushed it with one swift stomp. "At least that's done now," she murmured.

"Not quite…" Salem hazarded.

Looking up, Sabrina saw various monsters creeping towards her: banshees drifting in from the room's corners, giant spiders dropping from the ceiling, and animated skeletons slowly creeping forward, cackling as they did so. All-too familiar squeaking sounds meant that the infamous poisonous spiders were slowly crawling down the walls.

Sabrina snarled. "Okay. **Now** I'm pissed off."

"What're we gonna do?" Salem quivered, amber eyes darting in all directions.

"**You're** going to stay down until this is over," Sabrina mumbled, and shoved Salem down into the backpack.

Salem yowled; he had been thrust under a pile of Bravery Tonics, and he couldn't right himself. _Which way is up? I could be suffocating, for all she cares!_

He could hear Sabrina screaming defiantly, and occasionally hurling an obscenity. Salem managed to wriggle his way a little further up, and found himself smack dab in front of Leota's crystal ball. Her head turned around to face him, worry written on her features.

"It's a complete melee out there," she whispered, in a slightly horrified voice.

"She has the Beacon," Salem stated, clinging to a shred of hope, trying to ignore the fact that Sabrina was severely outnumbered.

"But even the Beacon may not be enough," Leota hissed, "not when she's facing against Thorne. I don't know the limits of Thorne's power. That's the problem. **I know the Beacon's limits, but not Thorne's. I'm afraid that we're out powered.** Even the fact that she's half-witch doesn't solve the problem; he's a full warlock, and centuries older than she is. He's simply much too powerful."

"Then why did you lead us on this escapade, if you say Sabrina's not powerful enough?" Salem growled. "Why were we dragged from our nice, non-normal lives to deal with a living nightmare like this?"

"I thought…I hoped…" Leota's voice trailed off. _They don't know how long we've waited. We were desperate…blindly desperate… I hoped that she would be able to help, in some way…__**any**__ way._

Then the most beautiful sound in the world rang out: the clear, pure ringing of a bell. The floor shook, and Salem yelped. "What's going **on**?" he wailed.

As soon as the rumbling subsided, he clambered up, and popped his head out of the backpack. The water level had lowered noticeably, and…

"Where did all the monsters go?"

Sabrina flashed him a weary grin. "Vaporized. Those that weren't got sucked down a whirlpool when the bell rang."

Relief washed over him. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls," Salem quipped, "it tolls for **thee**."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sabrina waved a dismissive hand. She sighed again, leaning against the door. Her knees were shaking, and her hands were convulsively clenching her skirt. "Wow…I really thought, for a minute, that I was going to die there."

Salem rubbed against her neck. "I knew all along that you could take them on."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she murmured, absent-mindedly reaching up and stroking his fur. "But there were so **many**…and they kept coming…" She shook her head. "But the two of you are okay, right?" After receiving their affirmations, she made a sound of relief, turned around, and ran a hand over the door.

Made of marble, it sported a handle made of intricately arched brass, with designs etched deeply into the door itself. _It's a lot like this mansion—beautiful, but creepy. It's elegant, just eerily so._

Tensing her muscles, she pushed open the door. With a slight protesting groan, the doors swung inward. Water flowed from the floor of the next room in a quiet rushing.

As far as Sabrina could tell, she was standing in the bottom of a large room. The water level was higher than the last room, and broken columns and pieces of statuary were half-submerged in the murky water. Walls rose high around her on every side and a platform with a staircase leading upwards lay a few precious feet away.

Sabrina attempted to stride forward, but she sank into water nearly past her boot. Grimacing, she pulled her leg back. _Disgusting. First the house, which hasn't been cleaned in decades, and then the muddy, rainy Graveyard, and now this. Drell is going to be paying one __**hefty**__ spa and dry cleaning bill when I get back…_

Desperate for dry land, she blindly groped at the pile of broken stone before her. She managed to catch hold of a broken arch, and pull herself onto the pile of wrecked statuary. "This place is an honest-to-God mess," she muttered, brushing at the hem of her dress and her boots.

"Where else would you put broken stone things?" shrugged Leota. "Besides, no one ever **goes** down here…" she broke off sheepishly.

Salem climbed out of the backpack, and in one fluid motion, jumped to the platform, which he carefully examined. "It's dry here," he called out.

Coughing, Sabrina scrambled over the stone mound, and sat gratefully on the floor. The stone was cold, to be sure, but it was dry and firm, a definite improvement over the past few places they'd been.

She sat, shivering, back against the wall of the staircase. _I hate this. I'm cold, I'm wet, and I'm hungry. Why is it in video games or action movies, the heroes never get hungry, or have to go to the bathroom? I don't get it. It's like they're not even __**real**__ people. They never get tired or anything, either…_

* * *

_**Sabrina was running through the halls of the Mansion. Her pace was not quickened out of fear, but rather out of gaiety. She was so happy! Gracey Manor was so beautiful! This was surely the best place in the world.**_

_**As she ran by a large mirror mounted on the Hallway wall, she stopped to admire herself. She twirled once, the skirt of the dark green velvet dress billowing softly. She giggled again, and then kept on running.**_

_**But slowly, the smile on her face died, as the hallways grew. Something was wrong…deadly wrong… **_

_**Eyes grew on the wallpaper, eyes that watched her, staring. She ran faster, trying to escape the eyes. But she couldn't! They were everywhere, on every inch of the wallpaper. **_

_**Doors flashed by, doors with rattling knobs, doors that banged in an effort to open, and doors that slowly moved in and out, as if they were breathing.**_

_**Her sense of urgency grew. She had to find something, something important; but to find it, she had to escape the hallway.**_

_**The hallway stretched on, forever and ever. She stopped, eyes widening. **_

_**The Endless Hallway!**_

_**She was trapped.**_

_**Slowly, she crumpled into a heap on the floor, sobbing. She had to get out, but she couldn't. She didn't know how. She was trapped.**_

_**Slowly, from the farthest reaches of the hallway, a small ball of light grew and moved towards her. If Sabrina had been watching, she would have seen that it was a candelabrum, floating in mid-air, as if someone was carrying it.**_

_**It came to a rest before the sobbing girl. Something light and gentle touched Sabrina's face. Gently, whatever it was guided her face upwards. Sabrina realized it was a hand, and the hand belonged to a woman. She was very pretty—beautiful, really. Dark curls framed a gentle, oval-shaped face. Luminous dark brown eyes regarded the girl with utmost sympathy. She was clothed in white; a bridal gown, the girl realized.**_

_**Recognition dawned on the blonde girl's face. "Elizabeth."**_

_**Elizabeth quietly smiled, her fingers tenderly stroking the terrified girl's cheek, wiping the traces of tears away. Her other hand held the candelabrum, the candles glowing with an unearthly light that could not have been born of mortal flame.**_

_**She stopped touching Sabrina's face, and gently helped the girl up. Putting her arm around the girl's shoulders, and smiling kindly, she led the teenage witch down the hallway. **_

_**The eyes stopped glaring and the doors stopped moving as Elizabeth's light drew nearer. All traces of the fear Sabrina had held earlier were bathed away in the warm glow of that light.**_

_**Was it her imagination, or was the hallway drawing to a close? Yes…there was an end!**_

_**The end of the hallway was a vortex of swirling light and color, and in the middle of the vortex was a door. Sabrina stared at it, and then looked up at Elizabeth. The older woman gently nudged her towards the door.**_

_**Sabrina cautiously touched the handle. An image flashed through her mind. She saw a room—no doors or windows, simply a closed-in room. The walls began stretching upward, revealing…a corpse? A corpse hanging from a noose? She trembled, seeing it slowly wither and decay into a skeleton dressed in tattered rags. The candles in the room dimmed and darkened; the vision flew away.**_

_**Sabrina turned back, beseechingly, to Elizabeth. The bride had placed her veil over her face, and she, too, was slowly withering. The lights of the candelabrum seemed to flicker in time to the steady throbbing of her bright, blood-red heart,**_

"_**Go now. Remember…you are the one who will open the door."**_

_**Elizabeth's bony hand now pointed at the door, the throbbing of her heart reaching a crescendo.**_

_**Sabrina put her hand on the door handle, gathering her will, and pushed it open…**_

* * *

"The door!" Sabrina gasped as the world flooded back. Her heart pounded painfully, almost paralleling Elizabeth's. It subtly reminded her of both her promise to the bride, and of her own fragile, living body.

Salem climbed onto her lap. "What door?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know. **The** door." She paused, as an idea hovered at the edge of her consciousness. "What just happened here?"

"You fell asleep," Salem explained.

Sabrina groaned. "Why didn't you wake me up? I have so much work to do!"

"You looked so peaceful," Leota said. "And besides, you need **some** rest. You can't fight these spirits much longer in a tired, hungry body."

Sabrina rubbed her thigh. Everything felt cramped from her unusual sleeping position. "So it was all just a dream," she murmured.

"What was a dream? The door?" Salem watched her with knowing, unblinking amber eyes.

"Sort of. There was a hallway, and I couldn't get out…I mean, I had to find something really important, but I didn't know what it was," she attempted to explain. "And then Elizabeth showed up and pulled me out, and I was in this vortex, looking at a room with no doors…"

"Whoa, whoa!" Leota interrupted. "Elizabeth? You saw Elizabeth?"

"Yes." In her mind's eye, Sabrina could see the young bride's gentle features and soft smile. "She rescued me from the hallway. And then I saw this room…there were no windows, and no doors." She paused, considering. "But there were lit candles…and a body." She shivered at the memory. "A dead body. Hanging from a noose at the top of the ceiling."

"But if there was no way in to the room, how were the candles lit, and how did the person get in to hang himself?" Salem pointed out.

Sabrina chewed on the end of a braid absent-mindedly. "I don't know. It wasn't like I was **there**, but I could see the room." She fingered the collar of her dress nervously. "And then, Elizabeth told me to go through the door. She told me…something that sounded like it was from a book or whatever…I was 'the one.' That's it, I think. That I was supposed to open a door."

"A door…" Leota pondered aloud. "I can't think of any **special** door that Elizabeth would talk of. Although, there are doors aplenty in the Mansion…"

"Maybe she means the last door," Salem offered. "You know, since we break the seals on the doors to get in and restore the light, she may be talking about the final door."

"You may be right," Leota mused. "Although it seems rather obvious."

Sabrina shrugged again. "Who knows? But one thing's for sure; we can't stay here forever." She slowly stood up, brushing dust and traces of dirt off of her dress.

The Spirit Detective scooped the cat into her arms, pulled her knapsack on, and began her ascent of the staircase. The staircase, unfortunately, had no railing, and the vertigo made Sabrina more than slightly dizzy.

Her eyes widened as she stepped onto the main platform. The Mausoleum's interior was designed in the winding, multi-tiered style of a Roman amphitheater, or coliseum. Instead of seats for spectators, however, holes had been chiseled into the walls of the levels, and coffins had been inserted. Small holes had also been dug in the natural rock wall of the room, and small urns containing the ashes of other Gracey members had been placed inside.

A large, wide, high stone pedestal rose from the floor, connected to the walkways by three small bridges. The bridges' guardrails were arches of wrought iron, and the same material was used in constructing the pillars and archways that supported the ceiling of the pedestal. In the center was a large black coffin, on a slightly raised dais, and…

"The Tome of Shadows!" Sabrina gasped, seeing the all-too-familiar lectern and book. It had been carefully left in what looked like a "place of honor," as Salem sarcastically noted.

Each successive version of Atticus Thorne's diary-of-sorts had provided her with clues as to the full story behind this case. Of course, she wouldn't find the answers presented before her, saying 'This is why I'm taking over Gracey Manor,' but there might be a clue…

Carefully, she made her way to the nearest bridge, Salem contentedly padding by her side. Her foot unexpectedly struck something that clattered and rolled away. Frowning, the Spirit Detective bent over to examine it.

A skull lay innocently on its side, the eyeless sockets staring into space.

Salem hissed, stepping back. Sabrina blanched. "Oh, my…" Leota murmured. "I had no…no idea…"

Sabrina gulped at the sight. _I just touched a skull. I just touched somebody's head. Oh, God…_

Still faintly trembling, she made her way across the stone platform. Salem stopped to admire the floor; inlay work had been done in the shape of a perfectly symmetrical rosette, in stones of slightly varying colors. "Pretty," he remarked. _As pretty as something in a house of dead people can get, anyway…_

Sabrina had ignored Salem, picking her way across the (skull-free) platform. Her fingers reached out and grazed the book's cover, whereupon it flipped open, facing her. The blonde licked her lips, and began to read.

_Tome of Shadows_

_Volume III_

_Page 561_

_My pursuit of the Beacon continues. In the meantime, I've taken steps to make the Order more efficient, given the inconvenience of the inquisition. Those who did not share my vision for the future are no longer with us. But with the wisdom contained in our ancient texts, I will replenish our numbers with a legion like nothing mortal men have ever seen._

_A. Thorne._

_Grand Master_

_The Order of Shadows_

_March 21st, 1642 A.D._

Sabrina stared at the book, frozen in place. Leota's eyes widened.

"So **this** explains his connections to the Netherworld," Leota gasped. "The 'ancient texts of wisdom' he talked about must have been books of demonology. A textbook for dark sorcerers—a 'Necromancy for Dummies,' if you will."

"If he's been studying the Dark Arts," Sabrina stated in a horrified tone, "then he could virtually summon any demon from the pits of the Netherworld that he wants." It felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach, and her hand trembled where it lay on the lectern.

"Which would explain our little 'guests' before: the giant spiders, the banshees, the skeleton warriors, the balrog…" Leota nodded.

"I really **don't** want to think about the possibilities," Sabrina paled._ This is bad. This is very bad. A warlock, studying the Dark Arts, and unleashing his summons in the Mortal Realm? This has the potential to become disastrous._

Salem pawed at the black coffin. "Whose is this?"

"Salem, don't touch that!" Sabrina yelped, dashing over and scooping him up. "That's…desecrating the dead, or something!"

"That's Ambrose Gracey," offered Leota. "And I don't think he'd particularly mind."

Salem peered at the crypt. "So, he builds this place, and gets the cushiest spot in the whole stiff shack. Not a bad deal."

"Salem, don't call it a 'stiff shack'!" Sabrina hissed, darting a glance at Leota. The psychic had either not heard, or was choosing to pretend she hadn't been listening.

'_Oh…how do you solve a problem like Salem?'_

She sighed, tightened her grip on the feline, and marched off to explore the rest of the Mausoleum.

The Mausoleum was cold, drafty, and slightly damp on the upper levels, Sabrina soon discovered. The floor also happened to be littered with skulls, although whether human or demon, neither the Spirit Detective nor the psychic could say.

Salem enjoyed playing with the skulls, batting them around as if they were catnip mice. Sabrina sharply kicked him in the side a few times, warning him to leave them alone. The cat, however, simply darted off in search of new toys.

Sabrina was bending over to examine another coffin when she heard the _smash_. Salem looked at her guiltily from a few feet away, shards of some broken white substance surrounding him.

"Kicked it into the pillar, huh?" asked Leota, shaking her head as if to say, '**Boys will be boys**.'

"Salem, I can't believe you," Sabrina snapped. "That's a skull you've just destroyed. A skull that belonged to a living, breathing being, just like you and me. How heartless can you be, to destroy their earthly remains?"

Salem quivered, before offering, "They won't need it."

Sabrina rolled her eyes at the excuse, and stormed off, inspecting the coffins more delicately than before. As she hiked to the upper levels, Salem neatly whisked the shattered pieces of the skull over the edge of the walkway. He listened as they made a neat, tidy splash in the sewer below.

_She takes everything so seriously…I hope she's not like this when we get home, or I'll never be able to do **anything**! It's like she's turned into a mini-Zelda…_

He huffed as he looked around. Suddenly, torches mounted in brackets on the platform's pillars burst into life, along with some unnoticed ones on the Mausoleum's walls. Startled, he backed into a wall, and bumped into a coffin.

"Er…sorry, uh…Mona May Gracey." He wrinkled his nose at the Gracey relative's name. "How very Southern."

"Salem! We're done!" Sabrina called out in a singsong voice.

"I could have guessed that," Salem mumbled under his breath, as the girl came climbing down to his level. She proudly brandished a scrap of paper. "We finished Sir Bertram's Death Certificate."

She stooped down so Salem could see the picture. The Knight, kneeling, had his head down on a wooden block, but was slightly turned backward, glaring. A helmeted man stood behind him, a hefty broadax raised high.

"Well, I never would have guessed his cause of death," Salem remarked sarcastically.

"If this is about the skull thing," Sabrina started, eyes narrowed.

Leota sighed. "The two of you, stop it. I'm much too old for this."

"I suppose you are," Salem purred slyly. "By the way, exactly how old **are** you, Leota?"

The aura inside the ball flared magenta as Leota's eyes widened, and then set in a baleful stare. "A **lady**," she informed Salem coldly, "should not be asked such things, nor should impertinent cats ask them."

Sabrina sighed as Salem and Leota lapsed into a staring contest. _Well, things are back to normal…for now…_

The ghost of a white figure became definable, standing at the edge of the platform. _Might as well talk to somebody…_ She risked a glance at her companions, who were still staring. _Won't get anything out of them for a while._

She slowly pushed herself off the floor, and walked over. The Spirit Detective nearly guffawed when she realized the ghost was a mummy. "Good evening," she greeted him, trying her best not to giggle.

The mummy-ghost sighed. "A word of advice," he began in a surprising nasal tone, "when you get mummified, go for the linen bandages. They're more expensive, but they're **so** worth the comfort in the long run."

"Linen bandages," Sabrina repeated doubtfully. "Uh…okay. I'll be sure to remember that." She slowly walked back to where the cat and the psychic were still heatedly glaring at each other. She put the crystal ball into her backpack, scooped the cat into her arms, and calmly began climbing down the staircase to reach the exit.

She carefully clambered over the pile of stone refuse, eying the murky water below with distaste. "I wonder what's under the water." She winced, remembering Salem playing with the skulls he'd found. _Maybe the bodies they're detached from are underwater?_ "Then again, maybe I don't want to know," she mused.

The water level had lowered considerably, and she was able to move towards the door without much sloshing. The door slowly creaked open, revealing that the stone antechamber was mostly devoid of water now.

"Well, that whirlpool was good for more than one thing, then." A grin quickly appeared on the girl's face. "At least I don't have to worry about getting wet." Still, she rubbed her boots in a gesture of pity. She loved these boots. She hoped they would pull through the soaking they'd been given, and that the mud from the Graveyard would wash off.

She slowly ascended the stairs. Now that her boots were rather damp, one slip could prove fatal. _I don't want to become the 1,000__th__ grim, grinning ghost here…_

A ghost was waiting by the door leading outside. "Good evening, madam," he said in a slightly haughty tone upon seeing the black-clad girl. "Your hearse is waiting at any time."

"H-hearse?" Sabrina choked.

"You **are** leaving for the funeral, correct? Might I compliment you on your fine choice in coffins? Beechwood, I'm afraid, is **so** common these days…"

Sabrina pushed the door open as fast as she could and bolted.

The hearse driver stared after her. "Never saw one so eager to attend a funeral, I have."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Lots and lots of mini-references here. Hope you're having fun finding them!

As for references to the Haunted Mansion…let's see. "Non Omnis Moriar" is actually the Ravenswood family motto from the Haunted Mansion's sister attraction, Disneyland Paris's Phantom Manor. (I decided to use it because of its meaning in Latin). I also put in a reference to PM's Endless Hallway scene—in their version, the Bride (Melanie Ravenswood) shows up in the Hallway, carrying a candelabrum, warning guests from going into it. The entrance to the Mausoleum is also from the movie. "Mona May Gracey" is a tribute to Mona May, the costume designer for the movie.

Most of the stuff in the house is correct for a wealthy estate of the period, though. Conservatories were big back then, because that's where you kept rare specimens of plants and things that you would bring back from vacation, or that people abroad sent you. Winter gardens (although I don't remember if that exact term is used) were popular for the same reason. A mausoleum is appropriate for a home in Louisiana, although I'm wondering why they have a Graveyard, as they're not supposed to be common…I guess every haunted house needs a graveyard, right?

The room in Sabrina's vision will show up later…

For anyone interested in my explanation of the Netherworld: Just like how the Mortal Realm and Other Realm coexist together, the Netherworld balances it out. It's a sort of Hell, where demons and monsters live and breed, and is like a purgatory for souls that get trapped there. If a soul of a wicked woman gets trapped there, it turns into a banshee. (For YYH fans, think of it as a combination of Makai/Meikai. Meikai being the 'Netherworld', IF you saw the second movie. YGO fans can view it as a really twisted version of the Shadow Realm.)

And…necromancy is the art of conjuring up the dead, and demonology is the study of demons. For the people who didn't know, and wished to know what I was talking about.

Next chapter:

The group has an encounter "of the Netherworld kind," and isn't too happy about it… And worst of all, there's no food in sight!


	14. Mystery on the Menu

It was still lightly raining when the small group burst out of the Mausoleum. Sabrina groaned, wishing she had thought to bring a raincoat. _I'm still afraid to use my magic…Thorne could track us down, and I don't want to __**think**__ about what he could do to us…_

"What was up with that coachman in the Mausoleum?" Sabrina asked, shivering slightly.

"Most likely, he's one of the few whose minds are trapped in the past. For them, it's still the 1870s, and you may be just a trespasser on the grounds," Leota warned her. "However, you shouldn't worry about the Mansion's own ghosts. It's Thorne's Netherworld minions we should be afraid of."

Sabrina shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"Someone has to," Salem mumbled. Sabrina shot him a glance that quite plainly shut him up.

Sabrina cautiously stuck her hand out. "It's not raining **too** badly, but I say that we should run for it. I don't want to get wetter than necessary." Salem mewed sharply in agreement; like most cats, he disliked getting wet. Unless there was bubble bath involved, however; but that was a different story. After helping Salem crawl into her backpack, Sabrina began jogging down the dirt path leading to the house. She hunched over slightly to avoid the rain.

The rain gently but persistently sprinkled the grounds, making the gray and ivory-colored tombstones glisten. The Graveyard's dirt paths became muddy near the edges, flowing into the wet-slicked grass. If the sky had not been so foreboding, and the situation not so grim and dire, the grounds would perhaps have held some strange quality of beauty. But, for now, any traces of beauty the Mansion retained were macabre, sinister, and strangely haunting.

Sabrina nodded her head in greeting to the Hitchhiking Ghosts, who were too busy fumbling in Phineas' bag to find an umbrella to notice.

Faint strains of music greeted her ears, which must have meant the group had neared the house and the new resting place of the singing busts, also known as the Phantom Five.

"_Raindrops…oh, so many raindrops, keep falling from my eyes…_"

"At least their music is mood and situation appropriate," Leota suggested, her tone muffled by the closed flap protecting her from the rain.

"_I'm a-walkin' in the rain…tears are fallin', and I feel the pain…_"

"Quite," Sabrina agreed, as she neared the Singing Busts. Waving in greeting to them, she quickly ducked inside the stone entrance to the Mansion.

Sabrina leaned against the wall, and brushed raindrops off her dress. Luckily, it hadn't been raining hard enough to soak her clothing. "Let's just wait here for a minute," she suggested.

"Just don't fall asleep," Salem quipped.

Sabrina ignored him and stretched her stiff neck. _Where to next? Upstairs? Maybe someplace with a bathtub…_ If Sabrina Spellman could have her way at the moment, she would have demanded a bath. Followed, of course, by a change of clothes, dinner, and a warm fireplace to sit next to. "Where to next?" she murmured, voicing her thought aloud.

Leota pursed her lips in thought. "The Knight…I'm trying to think of the place he haunts…" she trailed off, frowning. "A-ha! Of course!" she announced triumphantly, after a moment. "The Pantry!"

"Salem, you're in luck," Sabrina cheerfully informed him. "Back in Victorian times and beyond, food was kept in the pantry, not in the kitchen."

"Food?" the cat's eyes bulged. "We get food? Do they have t-tuna?"

Sabrina blinked. "I…uh…"

"Whoo-hoo! TUNA!"

Sabrina smacked her forehead. "How do I get myself into these things?"

After attempting to convince Salem that the Mansion residents didn't keep cans of tuna on hand, they re-entered the house, Leota directing them. "It's the last room on the other wing of the Downstairs Hallway; just a little further down from the Kitchen."

Sabrina felt a cold, nervous prickle slowly shiver down her spine. _It still feels like someone's watching us…but whom?_ Biting her lip, she swept her gaze over the hallway. And still, she couldn't see anyone; no other beings than herself and her two companions. "Maybe I'm just paranoid," she mumbled to herself, exiting into the Hallway junction. The busts that turned to watch her as she left would have disagreed, had they possessed the ability to speak.

As she entered the right-hand wing, Sabrina winced. A few of the imprisoned demons swung at her, growling their frustration at being held at bay from this moving target by a few boards of wood. She, however, was able to sidle along the opposite wall and avoid their attacks.

The end of the Hallway moved nearer, shrouded in shadows and thick, sticky cobwebs. Sabrina scowled darkly at the memory of the giant spider that had hid there. The seal on the Pantry door melted before her fingertips, and she swung the door open.

_It's more like a dungeon than a Pantry._

The Pantry was constructed of cold, bluish-grayish stone, and most of the western, left-hand wall comprised of windows bordered by tattered curtains. On her right was some sort of gate, with thick bars blocking access to a room. Straight ahead was another room, the entrance to which was supported by one massive stone pillar. Indeed, the air was that of the dungeon of a castle.

Like the spirits of damned prisoners trapped within the dungeon's confines, ghosts sprung from midair, their jaws open in a silent howl. Clawed hands reached out to slash at the Spirit Detective.

Blasting at them with the Beacon, she could see two brown, oblong shapes slowly move at her from the back room. A high-pitching cackling assaulted her ears as she quickly planned how to attack this new foe.

As the last ghost shimmered away, the Shield Skeletons (as she was now calling them), hissing with laughter, lowered their shields and prepared to attack her with their sharp bone darts. Jaws dropping in shock, each received a smartly placed soul energy blast to the gut. They teetered for a moment before collapsing in upon themselves.

Panting, with her hands on her knees, Sabrina stared into the room before her, trying to ascertain if any more of Thorne's minions were hiding themselves in the shadows. Satisfied that she'd dealt with

She stood on a sewer-like grate in the center of the room. She was facing the pillared entrance, which led to the door out of the room. Cabinets cluttered the walls, save for one, which featured an enormous fireplace. The floor was crowded with tables and barrels; one table still had butchering equipment laid out, along with the bones of what Sabrina fervently hoped had been a joint of meat.

To the right of the fireplace was the entrance to another room. Curious, she started forward.

"Watch out!" Salem cried out sharply.

Sabrina dropped to her knees, ducking her head. A split second later, a meat chopper imbedded itself into the cabinet on the wall—where her head would have been, had she not ducked in time.

Leaping up and pivoting, she found herself facing another animate skeleton. Cackling, it was reaching for a sharp butcher's knife. Angrily, Sabrina retaliated by flinging a blast of soul energy at **its** head; she grinned harshly as its skull was knocked clean off, disintegrating. The rest of the body wavered, and then collapsed into a pile of jumbled bones that quickly vaporized. "Serves you right for attacking from behind," Sabrina nodded.

She turned to examine the room in front of her. The walls were mostly bare, save for a crooked portrait of a wispy, faded-looking woman with haunting eyes. The right-hand wall was mostly comprised of a long window with frosted panes. But on the floor…

The detective jumped back as a flashing light caught her eye. A square opening had been cut out of the floor, a red-purple vortex pulsing inside. The colors shimmered garishly, making her wince. "What on earth is **that**?"

"Looks like a warphole," Salem stared. "Although, I've never been near one emitting this much negative energy."

"This reeks of Thorne's doing," Leota muttered angrily. "It's a portal to the Netherworld."

Sabrina stumbled backwards, toward the wall. She stared fearfully at the portal. "N-netherworld?" she choked out. _Definitely don't want to get too close to this, then._

She found herself edging along the wall, staring at the portal from all edges. It, in turn, glowed malevolently, energy pulsing. She glowered at it, edging sideways. All of a sudden, Sabrina bumped into something hard. She yelped, biting back a curse. Rubbing her head, she turned around.

The crooked painting she had seen before was directly behind her. Sabrina scowled at the culprit. Impulsively, she reached out to straighten the painting. As soon as she did, a strange squeaking, grating sound filled the air. Frowning, Sabrina stepped forward to investigate.

Unfortunately, she didn't remember the presence of the portal in front of her.

The Spirit Detective yelped with surprise as she dropped through the floor. Yet, somehow, she jumped out of the portal a few dizzying moments later. She staggered onto the floor, reds and purples swimming through her vision. She clapped her hands over her eyes for a moment, hoping to clear them. When she dropped her hands, Sabrina gaped at her surroundings.

The Netherworld version of the Pantry was…interesting…

Sabrina couldn't determine if it was the aura of the room, or the stones making up the room, but the room was red. **Blood** red. The window to her left had tattered, sickly-green curtains, instead of the somber deep purple drapes of before.

A high-pitched whining thrummed in her ears. Sabrina dropped to her knees beside the white-and-lavender portal, clutching at her head. _It hurts…what __**is**__ this?_ Slowly, she picked herself up off the floor, staggering towards the archway, into the center of the room.

Thorne's insect friends—the fat, dull green pillbugs that Sabrina loathed as much as spiders—milled around the room. Sabrina shuddered, and began blasting them away with the Beacon. _Ahh…they still make that satisfying 'squelch' noise when destroyed…_She ran an eye over the room. _Looks like that's all of them…_

Daintily stepping around piles of bug goop, the Spirit Detective analyzed her surroundings. The air seemed to pulse, and everything glowed hazy and red. The paintings wore malevolent glares, instead of the vague yet curious expressions of before… The mouth of the fireplace curved in what could be deemed a lopsided sneer, if the fireplace was a face.

The worktables remained in place, as before, but one was adorned with a coffin in place of kitchen utensils. Sabrina stepped closer, in macabre curiosity, to examine it. The box began to creak, the lid jiggling up and down, grunting noises filling the air as the occupant tried to escape. She slowly backed away, praying desperately that the coffin nails would hold.

She recognized the butchering table with its remnants of bones from her world. However, in the Netherworld's version, the butchering must have been very recent; the knives glowed a sticky red in the hazy light, and remnants of the meat still lay upon the table. The joint of meat looked as though it had been hacked at haphazardly…and resembled, to a frightening degree, a human leg. Fighting back a wave of nausea, the teenage witch backed away from the table.

She slowly wandered into the next room, looking around with trepidation. _This place is horrible…the air smells so bad…I can't think what it smells like, but…ugh!_

The windowed wall to her right was now smeared with a substance that **could** have been soot…but looked a tad too wet to have been anything but a body fluid…

Shuddering, she turned to her left. The grate that had reminded her of a dungeon hole was still there, albeit changed. "It looks like a mouth," she murmured disgustedly. Indeed, it was curved in the form of a demon's head—and the grate was the leering, sharp-toothed smile. _Just like those horrible clocks they have around here…_

"Is it safe to come out?" Salem quailed. "That portal thing was sca-a-ary!"

"Don't come out just yet," the Spirit Detective warned him. "It's not over." Frowning, she scanned the room. Her eyes rested on a switch next to the grate. "Hey, Leota, is this the switch to the room?"

"I highly doubt it," Leota replied, as Sabrina temporarily hoisted the ball up for her to see. "But, from the position it's in, it might have something to do with that door we're standing next to."

_She might be right, on that one._ She reached down and flipped the switch.

"Now, hurry! We don't know how time works between this world and ours!" Leota yelped.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" Sabrina yelped, running into the next room. She sharply turned a right, skidding on her heels before catching herself. She dashed into the room beyond, leaping into the portal that would take her back to her own world.

It was really weird, she decided a moment later, to be jumping **into** something, and a few seconds later, be jumping **out** of it. Either way, the detective really had no time to analyze the mechanics of portals, for she was running into the next room.

Nearly colliding with the pillar, she turned to see the gates of the doorway slowly closing. Salem jumped out of the backpack, reasoning that if she had less weight in her backpack, Sabrina could move easily. He also was a bit wary of the closing doors, but he wasn't about to let Sabrina or Leota know that.

_It's like one of those slow-motion scenes in action movies_, he thought. Sabrina was dashing towards the gate as it closed. _She should be slowly crying out: "NNNNNOOOOOOO!" in a deep bass voice… Yeah, that would be neat._

Instead, she neatly did a dodge-roll through the gates, landing inside. He couldn't see anything going on, so he slunk up to the gates. Sabrina was inside, in a room that looked like a simple storage closet, with a few random boxes on the dusty shelves. She flipped a switch on the far wall, and the gates slid open, allowing the cat access to the small room.

Torches mounted on brackets through the room burst into life, along with the fireplace. Curious to see the boxes' contents, the cat dashed inside.

In retrospect, Salem realized it was a very good thing he'd done that. For, at that exact moment, a small ball of black-purple flame appeared in the middle of the Pantry's entrance, growing upwards to reveal a tall, robed man.

Salem squinted at the figure. _Who's that? Wait a minute…there's only one other living person here besides Sab and me…it's that…that…erm…that evil warlock guy…what's his name again?_

"Thorne," Sabrina hissed, eyes narrowed in fury. "What are you doing here?"

The warlock stepped forward, robes swirling around his ankles, and unfurled his crossed arms. Immediately, the cheerful flames on the torches and in the fireplace sputtered and died.

Thorne turned to face the girl, a slow, predatory smirk etched on his face. "I suppose I could say the same for you," he drawled slowly. "Still here, poking your nose where it doesn't belong," he mused. "I honestly expected you to fail my little gauntlet in the Mausoleum. Hmmm, perhaps you **do** possess a shred of power, after all…but you can never hope to attain even a **quarter** of the power I possess. That human blood flowing in your veins…I can smell it. If you weren't sullied by this human filth, perhaps you could have became a formidable sorceress. But, as it is…"

Sabrina clenched her fists so tightly that white crescent marks began to form on her palms. "You know **nothing**," she hissed. "You say that your pure blood makes you far better than me, and yet you deform innocent souls with black magic. How **DARE** you!"

Instead of anger, only amusement passed over Thorne's face. "A mere child like you could never understand the goals of the grand Order of Shadows," he sneered. "But that is to be expected, naturally. No matter. When all is said and done, your kind will be the first to be purged."

Blood was pounding in the girl's ears, and surging through her veins like fire. Beneath Sabrina's seemingly easy-going, can-do nature was a fiery passion that could be raised from its dormancy at any notice, provided she was stoked up enough. And now, it was consuming her in a burst of pure fury and hatred.

Screaming defiantly, she dashed forward, wrapping the Beacon's energy around her fist, and preparing to fling it at Thorne's face. Thorne smirked, and disappeared in a burst of flames.

Bewildered, Sabrina looked around. _Where did he go?_

She received her answer a split second later, when a fireball connected with her back. Sabrina doubled over, screaming in agony. Lancets of white-hot pain shot up and down her spine.

Low laughter reached her ears. Despite her injuries, Sabrina howled with indignation and rage, and pushed herself off the floor. Lunging forward faster than she thought possible—and shouldn't she be unable to, since her back had just been injured?—she launched a volley of blasts at Thorne.

One seemed to hit him squarely in the gut, causing his lips to curl in surprise and what she hoped was pain. With a bark of a laugh, he stretched out one hand to steady himself against the nearby wall. "Well, it seems you've got a bit of bite still left in you. Since we've reached a stalemate, it seems, I will withdraw for now. As amusing as taunting you has become, I fear that our next meeting will be our last." With one final sneer, he teleported, dissolving into a flickering mass of fire.

Sabrina said nothing as he disappeared. _Yes, it will, because I'm sure that I will stop you._

Salem carefully tiptoed out of the cupboard, dragging the backpack containing Leota in his teeth. "Are you all right, honey?" Leota wailed anxiously.

"Yes…no," Sabrina amended, wincing as her injury painfully reasserted itself. "He caught me from behind, and I think I've got a burn."

"Let me see," Salem said suddenly. He bounded forward, and Sabrina slowly bent forward to let him see her back. After a shocked pause, he commented, "There's no burn mark."

"Well, he **definitely **hit me with a fireball," Sabrina gritted. "I can feel that much."

"No, I mean that there's no trace of it. Your clothes aren't burned. If that was normal fire…"

"But it wasn't," stated the psychic. "I'm willing to bet the flames he commands are magical in nature." Leota's worried frown became more prominent. "You best drink some more Tonic. We don't have any medicine on hand, and there's nobody here to heal you."

The witch sighed with relief after her fourth bottle of Bravery Tonic, claiming it hurt less than before. Salem rubbed against her legs anxiously. "He'd didn't hurt you **too** bad, did he?"

"I'll live," Sabrina sighed, bending at the knees to pick him up, not bending her back. It still felt sore, despite the Tonic healing her burn. Salem snuggled against her for a minute, before licking her face and nudging her shoulder.

"Look!" Salem hissed, staring at the room where the portal had been contained. Sabrina turned curiously, to look.

Slowly ambling from nowhere was the ghostly figure of a knight. Sabrina's eyes widened in recognition. _It's him! It's the knight from the 'welcoming committee'!_

The Knight carried his severed head in the crook of his right arm, wearing a plumed helmet. He had a bulbous nose, and a drooping mustache. Clad in armor, a magnificent broadsword was sheathed at his left hip.

He slowly came to a stop, and cleared his throat. "Excellent work, excellent," he nodded at Sabrina. "You, my lady, have been most diligent in applying yourself to the undoing of this curse. With the Madame's assistance, of course," he hastened to add.

Leota smiled serenely.

"High time I introduced myself. Sir Bertram, my lady, former knight under His Majesty, now a member of the Headless Hunt. Always at your service."

Sabrina dropped a curtsey, figuring a little courtesy would be highly appreciated by the knight.

He nodded approvingly, before clearing his throat again and continuing. "Now, as I was saying before, and I…What is this?" Sir Bertram stared in confusion as Sabrina tugged a piece of paper out of her backpack. "My Death Certificate? My dear lady, do you, in all honesty, believe that I have completely forgotten how I died?" He raised the arm that was carrying his head, gesturing towards it with his sword.

"Oh…I'm sorry," Sabrina mumbled awkwardly. _I didn't think he'd be so touchy. I mean, OBVIOUSLY he remembers how he died; his bloody head's been chopped off!_

"Well now," the knight started, obviously uncomfortable with seeing Sabrina in a state of distress, "you **did** go to the effort of undertaking this quest…and you **did** retrieve the rest of my memories for me…" so saying, he gingerly took the scrap of paper.

He cleared his throat a third time. Sabrina wondered if his lack of being connected to one caused this.

"You obviously should be rewarded, my dear girl." So saying, Sir Bertram held out his hand, where a small spark of yellow light shone. The light grew into a yellow gem. "So, I bequeath to you this Soul Gem. Use it valiantly in the fight against this evil menace which threatens us." Sabrina eagerly reached out her hands to accept it, and began wedging it into its proper spot on the Beacon.

"Well, my dear," he continued, "you truly deserve another award for your bravery. Such an effort should be commended. So I shall dub you…a…" the knight cast about in his mind for a suitable title. "A…squire! Yes, of course."

Sabrina blinked. _Okay…well, ordinary women weren't awarded titles back in the Middle Ages, so I guess I should be happy…_

"Um…thanks…we should be going now, I guess…" Sabrina hazarded.

"Yes, yes, carry on. But don't forget," he pointed his sword at her, "that we are at **war**. You must complete this mission, Lady Sabrina. It is imperative…or we are doomed."

Sabrina nodded, stumbling backwards slightly. _As if I didn't know that already…_

"Can we get a snack before we go?" Salem whined.

Sabrina's own stomach growled. "Sure…as long as we can find some around here."

Sir Bertram wasn't much help; he hadn't eaten in…well, centuries…and he hadn't lived at the Mansion, so he wasn't familiar with what was kept, and where. Leota was just as bad, pointing out that they could simply drink the Bravery Tonic.

"But I don't want to drink my dinner," Sabrina pointed out. As her stomach growled again, she remembered just how long ago she'd eaten that ham sandwich for lunch. _Then again, in retrospect, eating ham sandwiches before starting a quest in a haunted house is rather inelegant. But I don't care; I'm so hungry, I'd eat one of those spiders if I had to…_

The cabinets in the main room yielded nothing, so she decided to try the cupboard. There were racks upon racks of expensive wines that must have aged beautifully by now…but no food to be found.

She sunk down to the floor in dismay. "Great. Instead of being killed by a Netherworld demon, I'll starve to death."

"Not if I can help it!" Salem announced. "Look what I found!" Sabrina turned to see the cat gracefully leap down from a dusty box on the highest shelf. Eagerly, the Spirit Detective stretched up (very carefully stretching, as she **was** on the short side), and tugged the box down. Inside, she discovered…

_Cans. Canned food. Hallelujah!_

Indeed, there were several cans of actual food. Granted, it had survived since the nineteenth century, but it still was food. "And look!" Salem cried, nudging one can in particular.

"Tuna." Sabrina blinked at the faded label. "Canned tuna. Well, I'll be damned."

Leota didn't bother to correct the girl's language, since she seemed both absolutely stunned and completely delighted.

There were a few cans of tuna, and some tins of what was apparently jellied chicken, and shrimps in a garlic sauce. Rummaging around in one of the cabinets revealed a tarnished, but still usable knife. Carefully, Sabrina managed to saw off the can's top, and present the dish to the cat.

Salem eagerly began eating, giving little feline cries of delight.

Sabrina sawed the top off of a can of chicken, found a fork in what must have been a silverware cabinet, and stared at her chicken. _Not what I'd normally eat, but I'm starving here…_

She paused, lifted a forkful to her mouth, and chewed. _A little rubbery…but despite being a hundred years old, it isn't that bad. Well, at least being part-witch will save from any food poisoning this might give me. I hope._

The girl ate in silence, mind wandering. _We have a whole second story to complete. I can only imagine how much 'fun' it'll be…_ She shuddered at the memory of the minions they'd faced before. _And Thorne's more dangerous now than he ever was before. He means to kill us._

Sabrina stopped in mid-chew, eyes widening. She had never killed anything before…yes, she'd stomped on bugs before without thinking, but this... The thought was unsettling. She gulped her mouthful of chicken down.

_It's me or him…One of us must die by the other's hand…this is the way it has to be._ She tried to reassure herself, but nothing seemed to flow correctly. Death was all she could think of. It hovered at the edge of her mind in the traditional form of a reaper; long, bony hands clutching a sharpened scythe, blue robes hanging over an unseen figure…

No, black. The Grim Reaper wore **black** robes.

Why had she thought they were blue?

Sabrina shook her head, stuffing the rest of the chicken in her mouth, heedless of taste or texture. She needed **nutrition**, something to keep her going through this ordeal.

Hastily, she swept the rest of the cans, along with the utensils, into the bottom of her backpack. "Salem, we've got to go."

The cat looked up, faint traces of his tuna dinner adorning his whiskers and mouth. "Now?"

"Yes." She frowned, as she scooped Leota (protesting her rough handling) into her backpack. She picked the cat up, and hurried to the door. "Something's not right. And it's coming from upstairs."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

The two songs that the the Singing Busts croon in this chapter are Dee Clark's "Raindrops," and Del Shannon's "Runaway."

Sabrina is correct: In the Victorian era, and even further back, the pantry was a separate room used to keep food in. The kitchen was not the place to keep food, unlike today. Also, they **did** have canned goods back in the 1800s. The method used to preserve food in a canned format was developed during the Napoleonic Wars. By 1867, canneries had sprung up all across the U.S. (Although I have no idea when the can opener was invented…) Thanks to Flashbeagle, who helped me figure out what foods to give the poor girl!

Now, as a general PDA: canned food generally has a shelf life of two years. After that, there may be some change in texture or taste. The canning process involves high heat, and it renders the food essentially "sterile." If the cans are kept in an area with constant temperature, and if the cans are intact (not dented or bulging), the food is still okay. There have been a few incidents where 100-year-old canned food has been discovered; once tested, the food was found to be safe. In this case, Sabrina and Salem were fine because the food was properly stored. But in real life, if you've found a can of food and it's old or has a beat-up can, please think twice about eating it.

No, the knight's name is not officially Sir Bertram. Obviously, the man had a title of "Sir," and…well, to be honest, his nose reminded me of Bert from Sesame Street. ::hangs head::

Why, indeed, does Sabrina think that the Grim Reaper wears blue? We'll find out later… (cue evil laughter)

By the way, Salem's favorite kind of fish is tuna. Just so you know.

Next Chapter: Goodness, gracious, something seems to be wrong with the Trophy Room's fireplace! While the gang narrowly avoid being burnt to a crisp, they encounter yet another of Thorne's deadly minions…


	15. Race Against Time

Sabrina hardly noticed where she was going; her feet seemed to fly by themselves as she dashed through the hallways. She came skidding to a halt before the door leading to the Upstairs Hallway. She leaned against the wall, her heart painfully pounding against her ribs. _I haven't had to run like this since middle school. Am I getting out of shape? Note to self: start practicing again._

"Are you okay?" Leota queried, voice muffled by the fabric of the bag.

"Nothing a warm fire and a mug of hot chocolate won't cure," the Spirit Detective muttered._ Though I doubt they'll totally calm my nerves after a night like this…_

"Maybe they'll have hot chocolate upstairs," Salem guessed hopefully.

"And maybe not." Leota rolled her eyes.

"I can dream," Salem grumbled.

Sabrina sighed at their bickering and placed her hand on the door, watching the purple fire melt down its front. "The Upstairs Hallway…here we go…" she whispered.

She pushed the door open, and held her breath, expecting to be blasted at once. When nothing came, the blonde curiously poked her head into the doorway, and then stepped in, closing the door behind her.

There was a short set of stairs before her, carpeted in a dingy, dusty red. The wallpaper was a shade of oatmeal, with a flowery pattern. It would have been cheery, had the carpet been clean, the wallpaper bright, and the cobwebs removed from the ceiling and walls.

_Joy of joys. This is going to be **so** much fun…_

The blond witch sighed, starting up the steps. The landing that the steps led to branched off; to her right was another staircase, and before her was the oak-framed entrance to another hallway. "Which way?" the girl pondered.

Ridiculously on cue, a faint beam of light shone through the middle of the hallway ahead of her. Squinting in the semi-darkness, the Spirit Detective tried vainly to discern the source of the light.

She gasped. In the middle of the hallway before her was a candelabrum, glowing a buttery gold in its own faint light. **But it was floating in mid-air. **

Sabrina's mouth opened and closed, trying to say something, but could not find the words. _It's like in my dream…is that Elizabeth?_ Her feet, once again taking a life of their own, started up the stairs and dashed into the hallway.

As soon as she came within a foot of the candlestick, however, it…vanished, for lack of a better word. Trying to calm herself, Sabrina took in her surroundings.

The Upstairs Hallway was not as overtly creepy as its cousin downstairs. The walls were wood-paneled, in an indeterminate shade that could have been oak. A long carpet runner of a dulled cream color ran the Hallway's length. End tables were placed between doors, with small assortments of tastefully arranged knick-knacks: photographs, daguerreotypes, ink wells, small boxes, vases with long-dead cut flowers, and other assorted trinkets.

So why is it so creepy?

Sabrina found that she could not answer that question, and her mouth turned cottony as she looked around. The silence was overbearing; she couldn't even hear the thud of a clock. "Where to?" she croaked, almost expecting a monster to leap out of nowhere.

Leota pursed her lips. "The Trophy Room is as good a place as any, I suppose," she mused slowly. "Turn to your left. One door down."

Licking her lips and swallowing a few times (to remove that funky cotton-feeling from her mouth), she carefully grabbed the doorknob, relaxing only a fraction when fire coursed down the door in rivulets.

Inside was bright…surprisingly. She was standing in a short hallway, decorated with paintings on both walls, as well as… "Suits of armor?" she blinked, staring at the nearest one unbelievingly.

"Master Gracey was fond of collecting various artifacts," Leota explained. "This mini-foyer into the Trophy Room is known as the Armory. These suits of armor are from many different time periods and locations."

Indeed; the lacquered, elaborate suit nearest Sabrina was that of a Japanese feudal-era samurai, and the one across it, carrying a round dented shield and thick broadsword, was such that Sir Bertram might have worn.

So intent was she, looking at the armor, that Sabrina didn't notice the enormous, blazing fireplace in the larger room, directly across from her. Thankfully, she looked up just in time to see the fireball hurled from it, streaking like a meteor, towards her.

Sabrina's mouth opened in a scream, but the sound seemed to stick in her throat. There was nowhere to run, either; the fireball was hurtling towards her with enough force to smash through a wooden door.

Three shields, which had been previously held by the suits of armor nearest her, zoomed towards the teenage witch, setting up a barrier that the fireball smacked against. Heart pounding, she stared as the fireball dissipated into wisps of energy. Another fireball launched itself from the hearth, and smacked into the shields again.

_Well, I can't stay here forever. I'll have to do…something…_

She cautiously edged towards the side of the Armory wall. Oddly enough, the fireball changed its angle to follow her, but the shields, yet again, deflected the blast. Experimenting with quickly sprinting from side to side (with Salem screaming bloody murder about being roasted alive, and Leota demanding to know what she was doing), Sabrina found that both the shields and the fireball followed her every movement.

She huddled behind a very obliging shield as she quickly puzzled out the room. _I don't see any need for a fireball-launching inferno in this room; I mean, what's the point of this, if there's already a light on? …Unless the fire isn't the light source. So then, why would you be moving closer to the fire? I don't get it._

Sabrina gazed around the room, looking for anything that could give her a hint as to the room's secret. Almost immediately, she hit upon four tall candlesticks mounted on either side of the room proper before her. _Bingo. Where there's fire, there's candles…or something along that line._

The Spirit Detective began edging forward, the shields carefully whipping in front of her, deflecting the relentless pounding of the fireballs. The candlesticks on the right side of the room came closer. Closer…and closer…

"Look OUT!" Salem screeched.

Sabrina looked up in time to dodge out of the way of a fireball hurtling towards her head. "A little help here?" she snapped at the shield, hovering innocently nearby. She sighed, and moved over, rubbing her back. "This is a pain in the…"

"DUCK!"

Sabrina dove to the floor, watching the fireball smack into the candlestick. The wicks caught the light, the soft white of the candles still remaining firm…even after being hit by liquid fire. She began crawling across the floor, heedless of the amount of dust collecting on her dress.

_Why does it feel like the Mission Impossible theme song should be playing right now?_

The second candlestick, only a few feet away from the first, was lit by the next rocketing fireball. Sabrina shuddered, filled with gratitude that it was the candlestick that had received the blows, not her own body. The worst was next to come, she noted as she scuttled from side to side, trying to avoid blows from the fireballs. There were two other candlesticks across the room, and if her hypothesis was correct, they had to be lit as well. The Spirit Detective licked her lips. _I'll have to make a run for it…_

"What are you **doing**?" Leota demanded. "What's going on?"

"Just hold tight," Sabrina called, as she sprang from her hiding spot behind the candlestick. In her old school—the one she'd attended when she had lived with her mother—Sabrina had been a member of the track team. She'd been fairly good at anything her coach had her try, and therefore had done everything from relays to sprinting to cross-country. She was slender but athletic, and naturally agile. That, and countless hours of practice, had helped her earn a few medals at meets.

And she would be counting on those skills again, but this time, to save her life. "Just think of it as the ultimate track practice ever," Sabrina whispered to herself, willing her heart to stop pounding wildly. She took one deep, shaky breath. Then, with an agility borne of fear, desperation, practice, and talent, the Spirit Detective sprinted across the floor of the Trophy Room, searing heat from the fireplace rolling out in waves. Fireballs pounded the ground behind her feet, like a tidal wave of fire.

_I can do this! I know I can!_

Sweat was dripping into her eyes, but she could make out the dark shapes of the pair of candlesticks ahead. She nearly stumbled into it, but Sabrina managed to throw herself behind the nearest candlestick in time. The fire rushed above her head as she lay on the ground, panting.

Licking dry, cracked lips, she pulled herself behind the fourth candlestick. The fireball hit with a resounding _BOOM_. Sabrina pressed her eyelids shut, waiting for…anything.

The rolling heat slowly receded, leaving only gentle warmth. The wildly rolling fire died to a warm, spirited blaze.

Sabrina looked around the room, taking its features in. The hallway-like Armory had led to a much larger room, with a large, but thin, carpet laid in the middle of the floor. The floor itself was of sandy marble tile, and the rug displayed a scene of the hunt: hunters arrayed in crimson jackets, carrying old-fashioned rifles, stalked through tall grass, brown-and-white hounds eagerly trailing at their heels.

The fireplace was across from the door to the room, and magnificently created of reddish, bluish, purplish, and gray stones, blended together in a strange pattern. Hung on either side of the fireplace were trophies of the hunt. Sabrina counted a lion, a bear, a tiger, a crocodile, some sort of gazelle, and a Cape buffalo. "Master Gracey's father, Master George, was fond of taking hunting trips to Africa and Asia every few years or so," Leota explained. "These are the crème de la crème of his…er…souvenirs."

Sabrina, eying the now-moth-eaten head of the gazelle, with its dusty horns and blank, glass-eyed stare, was not so sure, but decided not to comment.

The walls at the side of the room were mostly comprised of huge, multi-paned windows that overlooked the swamp below. Sabrina felt vaguely dizzy, as she stood right in front of the eastern one, looking down. Black, leafless trees with gnarled branches, draped with Spanish moss, stretched as far as she could see, ominous under the dark sky. Some dared to grow high enough to stretch their topmost branches below the window.

Salem and Leota had been removed temporarily from the backpack, and now stood by her feet, looking out over the landscape with her. "Bats," Salem noted, pointing to one specimen fluttering nearby with his tail.

"Quite common at this time of night," Leota murmured. "Useful things; they keep the mosquito population down."

"Rats with wings," Salem snarled, amber eyes narrowing to bright slits. "Disgusting."

"Now, now," Sabrina murmured, gently stroking the glass. These windows had survived the years magnificently. Others that she'd seen in the Mansion had warped, the glass bulging near the bottom. She sighed, walking away to examine the rest of the room. _I'll get dizzy if I stand here too long; I should keep moving._

Other than the animal heads, there wasn't much in the way of decoration on the walls: a few framed documents, such as hunting licenses, photographs of George Gracey (a man with thinning hair that turned to balding, but a flourishing mustache) with his prized kills, and even a newspaper article or two on the subject of hunts or sporting events that the Graceys had participated in.

A few broken pieces of furniture were shoved in the corners, covered with cobwebs and dust, but there were no other objects in the room. Sabrina stood in the middle of the room, trying to imagine what purpose it might have been used for.

In her mind's eye, she could see a few high-backed chairs, with Gracey relatives and friends, placed around the fire. They might have cigars or drinks with them, eagerly listening to Master Gracey's hunting tales, and guffawing at a joke or two. Her rosy imaginings were unfortunately broken by Salem and Leota squabbling over something inconsequential near the window, where she'd left them.

_Then again, that life was so long ago, when these people were happy here…and now, there's nothing…everything is as dead as these suits of armor…_

Sabrina slowly walked towards the Armory, deciding to have another look at the samurai suit before searching for the Shriveled Souls. The Spirit Detective moseyed by the first set of suits, taking her time.

A few seconds after she passed them, one of the suits suddenly gleamed slightly brighter than the rest. It carefully raised its hand from where it had rested on the down-turned axe. It wiggled its fingers, as if testing its new mobility. With the care of a toddler just learned to walk, it stepped off the pedestal.

Sabrina frowned, listening to a strange squeaking and clanking noise. "Salem, Leota, what are the two of you **doing**?" she hollered, not bothering to turn around.

"…Fighting?"

Sabrina gritted her teeth. "Obviously. What are you doing that's making the clanking noise?"

"…Nothing…"

"Then why don't I…" It was at that moment that Sabrina turned around and spotted the suit of armor a few steps behind her, broadaxe raised above its head. Sabrina screamed and jumped back, as the axe crashed into the ground where her feet had rested a moment ago.

Sabrina panted, her eyes wide as she stared at the suit of armor tugging at the axe, trying to pry it from the ground. _The Beacon, you idiot! Use the Beacon!_

"Take this!" Sabrina shouted, forcing a blast of Soul Energy through the Beacon's focus. The energy exploded against the walking suit of armor, fizzling in mid-air.

Sabrina watched, with slight horror, as the sparks faded; the armor was still standing, only with black scorch marks on its armor. She was sure that if it could, it would be growling with anger. _It's like in those old cartoons…I think steam should be pouring from its ears by now._

The armor picked the axe up, and began charging at her again. "Hmmm…maybe more energy this time?" she puzzled, creating a more concentrated beam of energy. While it **did** cause her enemy to stagger back again, the attack wasn't enough to fully destroy it.

To Sabrina's annoyance, it took three more bursts of Soul Energy to fell it. Salem padded over to watch, Leota rolling in behind. The armor fell apart with a clank, a spiral of black-and-purple smoke rising from it, and disappearing.

"This place really **is** hazardous to your health," Salem blinked, watching the pieces of armor fade into dust.

"You're telling **me**," Sabrina grumbling. She gave the collapsed pieces of armor a kick, for good measure.

Salem and Leota stayed whilst Sabrina poked about the room. "…I suppose that that doesn't happen often?" Salem offered.

"No." Leota shook her head. "I-I could have sworn that Thorne couldn't manipulate objects in our Mansion like this." The psychic ghost looked faintly disturbed.

"What about those skeletons?" Salem pointed out. "Thorne manipulated those."

Leota shook her head again. "They were hastily buried in unmarked, unhallowed graves. Necromancers can easily reanimate the bones of the unblessed dead; they can even bring the body back to life, after a fashion."

The cat stared. "But surely…"

"No, it doesn't have a soul. It is merely a puppet used to do one's bidding. If Thorne wanted to, he could have used a simple method to mix clay and earth with the bones, and create a reasonable facsimile of a body. It would need some sort of energy to do 'live,' however…"

"But Thorne hasn't done that," Salem cut in.

"Not to our knowledge, no. But if he's reanimated the remains of the unhallowed dead, there's no telling what he can do…**especially** if he's managed to manipulate inanimate objects such as suits of armor."

The two stared at the small pile of dust that had been the suit of armor.

"How did he **do** it?" Salem wondered.

"He's already managed to take over most of the house, and infuse his aura into it. Manifesting it—and moving it—to other objects is quite simple." Loeta paused. "The only question I have is why he didn't extend that to other objects, like the clocks Sabrina seems so afraid of."

"Maybe because he's not that creative?" Salem offered.

Leota shot Salem an exasperated look. "Maybe…" she conceded, doubtfully.

Sabrina, meanwhile, finished her exploration of the room. She sighed, resting her palms on her knees. Before her materialized a ghost, dressed in a linen shirt, hose, and doublet, like in Shakespearian plays.

She blinked.

He strutted, preening. He cleared his throat, and began warming up. "Mi, mi mi mi mi! It's all about me!" he bragged. "It's almost time for my performance, and I **refuse** to go on without my nose powdered!" He folded his arms, giving his imaginary audience a pout.

"Uh…" Sabrina started, and then decided not to finish. _The ghosts around here just get weirder and weirder… _ She picked up the Beacon, along with the scrap of the new Death Certificate she'd found, and started for the door. She found Salem and Leota still staring at the spot where she'd defeated the armor. The metal remnants were slowly crumbling into dust. Neither was speaking, and Sabrina wondered if she preferred their awed, shocked silence to their heated but amusing bickering. Shrugging the thought off, she knelt on the floor. "C'mon, you two, time to go." She scooped Leota back into the backpack, and cradled Salem in her arms.

_That's another room down…will this task **ever** end? How many rooms are there, anyway?_

As they left, she found herself subconsciously humming. _What the…oh, yeah…I remember this song…_

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire…"

* * *

**Author's Note**

The Armory does not exist in the ride, but was actually created for the movie; it also ties in a piece of the HM ride's history. During the 1980s, Disneyland felt the ride was becoming too "boring," and decided to spice things up with the addition of a moving suit of armor—and by moving, I mean "person inside a suit of armor, trying to scare the crap out of guests in random places." Unfortunately, people reacted rather violently to the knight, ending up in its removal. However, the idea of moving suits of armor was used in the movie, and the game…

The floating candelabrum is not just in the ride (it's in the Endless Hallway), but actually in the game, too; it leads you to a save point.

The track team reference comes from the Sabrina, the Teenage Witch movie with Melissa Joan Hart (The one made before the TV show, with an entirely different cast). In the movie, Sabrina not only is an excellent swimmer (supposedly, she was on the dive team at her "old school"), but she joins the track team. Although she cheats a little with magic, she's actually pretty good.

The description of George Gracey comes from the portrait of the woman on the headstone in the ride's Stretching Room.

"Great Balls of Fire" (or whatever the title is, I can't remember exactly) is sung by Jerry Lee Lewis.

Next chapter: Sabrina discovers a power she never knew she possessed—and she will never be the same…


	16. Running Scared

As the small group exited the Trophy Room, Sabrina absent-mindedly brushed traces of dust and dirt from her dress. Salem shot her a shrewd look. _Normally, she'd be freaking out over a ruined outfit, but I think here, she's learned to put things into perspective…I guess fighting for your life will do that to you._

"Where to next?" Sabrina asked Leota cheerfully. _This gets sort of cliché…I mean, I don't know where I'm going half the time—okay, ALL of the time—and I feel like I'm being led around on a leash._

"Let's try the Toy Room," Leota suggested. "Go down the hallway, to the four-way intersection, and then take the right. Can't miss it."

Sabrina blinked. "Toy… Room?"

Leota nodded before explaining. "A nursery. **You** know. Where the children spent most of their time."

"No, it's just…" Sabrina fumbled for the right words. "When you say 'Haunted Mansion,' you just don't naturally think of toys, much less of children." She began briskly walking down the hallway, eyes sharply flitting back and forth, senses open to finding enemies.

"Well, there **were** children here once," Leota pointed out.

"When?" Salem sarcastically remarked. "This dive doesn't look like a place I'd take any kid of **mine**."

"Heaven help us if he **does** procreate," the psychic muttered. "The Toy Room is relatively new," she explained, "in comparison to the rest of the rooms in the house. It used to be a schoolroom of sorts, until Master George inherited the Mansion. He had it totally renovated for his children; Master Edward being one of them."

"Edward Gracey had siblings?" Sabrina asked, interested in spite of herself. _I really want to meet this Master Gracey. Maybe he can explain some of the bizarre occurrences here…even if he __**is**__ dead. And the story of the Gracey family is intriguing…_

"Yes. He had two. This door, honey," Leota instructed. They had ended up in a dead-end hallway, with one other room opposite the door Leota was facing.

Curiously, Sabrina deconstructed the barrier. The sound of gentle children's laughter filled her ears. _There aren't children __**in**__ here…are there?_ Heart pounding as hard as Elizabeth's (_Don't think of her right now, don't think of the ghosts, just fix the room_), she stepped in.

The Toy Room was charming. Whatever decay or sinister warping had befallen the rest of the Mansion had not reached this innocent respite. The wallpaper was a soft, cheery light blue, with lacy white patterns of lines and ripples. The wooden floor was laid in golden-hued planks, and was a plateau of sorts; steps in the middle of the room led to a slightly lower level. That level housed a magnificent bay window, decorated with pristine white trim. Like the other rooms of the house, it overlooked sections of the swampy forest surrounding the house. And yet…the trees outside the window were straight, almost noble looking.

Sabrina wandered around, marveling. The room was dusty, to be sure. But time had wreaked little other damage. A chalkboard was mounted on one wall, and a pale-blue velvet-padded sofa sat next to it. There were a few cabinets, tables, chairs, and even a rocking chair on the lower level.

The Spirit Detective walked down the steps, examining the rocking chair. She squealed with delight. "Salem, look!" Her fingertips brushed a slightly dusty doll, seated on the chair. Very carefully, with the tenderness of a mother handling a newborn, Sabrina picked the doll up.

The doll was of porcelain, with a rosy face and tiny, delicate hands and feet. It was shod in real lace gloves and socks, shiny leather slippers, and a dress of blue silk. Sabrina touched the pink ribbon tied on the doll's hat, and gazed at the face, with its rosebud mouth and blue glass eyes.

"Her name is Lydia," the psychic informed the Detective. "And she belonged to Miss Emily."

"Emily?" Salem queried. Sabrina looked up from cradling the doll, watching the crystal ball. _It sounds familiar…sort of._

"Emily Gracey was Edward Gracey's older sister," Leota explained. "She and Edward's other older sibling, Master Daniel, lived here as children. Lydia was Emily's favorite doll."

"So, why didn't she take it with her when she got married?" Sabrina asked, gently rocking Lydia. "She could have taken it with her when she got married—to give it to her kids."

"Emily Gracey died as a young woman," Leota said quietly.

A look of shock spread across Sabrina's face, and she barely kept from dropping the doll.

"She and the others were visiting their mother's relatives when the countryside was struck by scarlet fever. She and Daniel… She was just about your age."

Sabrina's arms trembled faintly. _So horrible…she was so young…just like me…_

"Only Master Edward survived," Leota murmured. "He was the youngest, yet he became the heir."

"What is up with this guy?" Salem asked quizzically. "You'd think fate had it out for him or something."

Leota did not respond. Her face was closed and meditative, as if reliving past days.

_She's remembering the past,_ Sabrina thought. _Being here is triggering memories that maybe she doesn't want to relive…_

Sabrina stood up, and still carrying Lydia, begun to finish examining the room. Blocks were scattered across the floor, and a few dusty books lay on the window seat. Clumsy pastel drawings were tacked proudly on the walls: a vase of flowers, the tree outside the window, and what looked like a camel, but could have been a dog. The last picture bore the name 'Eddy.' _I guess it proves that no matter what time period you're in, kids are still kids._

Sabrina sat down on the couch, and clutched Lydia to her chest. She rested her head on top of the doll's head, and closed her eyes. _These were real people. They __**lived**__ and __**breathed**__ and __**died**__ here. They planted flowers, and drew pictures, and buried their beloved dead in that ridiculous Mausoleum. Why didn't I understand that before?_

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. _Emily…_

A strange wave of emotion swept over her, more powerful and intense than anything she had experienced. Sabrina felt like a torrent of spiritual power was attempting to sweep her away, and she was unable to break free.

Spots of color and light swam in her vision. _It's like a kaleidoscope…_ In the midst of her shifting, the Spirit Detective could have sworn she saw a door… Light streamed from its cracks, and the doorknob gleamed with an unearthly shine. _It's the door…the door to somewhere…no, some__**thing**__ important…_

Dazedly, she reached out, stretching. _I must open it…I have to…_ Her fingers grazed the knob, then firmly grasped it. Summoning all of her strength, Sabrina pulled.

**The door slowly creaked open…**

It was as if the door to something deep inside Sabrina, herself, had been opened. Some part of her soul had been awakened, and now…

…**now, things would be different…**

A strange perception filled the girl's mind, strange in its clarity and haziness. If she could have been separate from her body, she might have seen the doll she was carrying glow gold, briefly. She could have possibly seen that glow diffuse into her own skin, only to reappear briefly in her own eyes.

What she **did** see was the faint haze clouding the room. Soft, gentle laughter—the laughter of a child—filled the room, coming from no specific source.

A child darted in front of her, dressed in dark blue, with a white ruffled pinafore, and a white hair bow pulling the pale locks back. She looked up at the older girl solemnly, before turning to the toy chest set near the door.

Suddenly, superimposed over this was the image of the little girl, along with two other children—dark-haired boys, dressed in oddly-styled short pants and shirts—playing with sets of blocks, next to the chest. The girl was giggling as she built castles from the blocks, and the older boy knocked them down with marbles.

Sabrina, gasping, backed away. _How can I do this? How can I see this?_ Her eyes wide, chest heaving, she stared at the small girl, realizing that her pearly skin was translucent, and her form faintly blurred around the edges.

The little girl turned back from the toy chest to look at the Spirit Detective. Her large cornflower eyes regarded the teenage witch solemnly. Pain, sadness, and frustration: elements and emotions that had no place in the soul of a child swirled in the depths of those eyes. A strange, acute sadness pulled at Sabrina, as she made to put her hand over her heart, gasping, but realized that she was clutching a toy.

The child turned slightly, and raised a finger to point at the toy chest. Sabrina stared, daring to edge slightly closer. _What? What does she wasn't with that?_

The little girl jabbed her finger at it, stubbornly indicating that Sabrina was to examine the chest.

Carefully, Sabrina edged closer. She knelt before the toy chest, placing Lydia the doll on the ground, before reaching to touch the ancient wood. The lid rattled and swung open, a strange dusty mist flowing from within.

For the third time in this evening—assuming it was still evening—Sabrina felt that same pressuring vacuum force drawing upon her. The force was derived from an object in the chest—she could tell that much. The force clamped down on her from all sides, and a whirlwind of dust, mist, and aura raged around her, consuming the Detective's slight form.

She was falling again, and this time, only the strange little girl heard her cry.

She landed on her feet, remarkably, on something hard, and slightly slick. Sabrina had not realized that her eyes were pressed tightly together, so she carefully forced them open.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?"

Surrounding her, looking like some sort of neo-skatepark, was a structure of blocks. These were the kind of blocks—brightly colored and in a variety of shapes—which children built castles and buildings out of. Sabrina had, too, in her own childhood. _Okay, I've been shrunk again. This is getting kind of old._

Checking underneath her feet, she discovered she was standing on some sort of ball—perhaps the kind used to play jacks, or maybe a marble. Panic quickly gripped the Detective as she desperately tried to maintain her balance. She closed her eyes, held her arms out, and tried to relax. _It's only a three-foot drop to the ground. I'll survive if I fall…I think…_

She took a tentative, tiny step, hoping she wouldn't slip off. Oddly enough, the ball rotated to meet her foot. She blinked, and stepped forward again. _Neat…I can just walk forward, and not fall off!_

Sabrina carefully began walking forward, marveling as the ball rolled to meet her feet at every step. The witch began running, watching its solid surface rise to meet her. "This is really co-"

Sabrina yelped as the ball dropped down from the block she'd been walking on, to the ground. Unhurt, but shaken, she looked around. The blocks were set up in a series of ramps and flat surfaces. Over by the far side was a slowly rotating platform, and above that—

"The light switch! Finally!" Sabrina yelped.

She began to wobble in its direction, realizing how high it was above her a split second before she fell off the ledge. Thankfully, she landed on her feet, escaping injury. Through some careful maneuvering, she managed to wheel the ball up a ramp, and onto another block.

Sabrina indulged for a few minutes in wheeling up and down ramps, and jumping off blocks. _It's like extreme Rollerblading…if I could skate, that is…_

Finally tiring, Sabrina began rolling along the edge of the toy box, where the most direct route seemed laid out. It was difficult, because the Spirit Detective was sure that the box was slowly tilting…or was that the rolling of the ball?

Slowly, dizzily, Sabrina fought her way across the maze of ramps and platforms, finally rolling to the switch. She sighed with exhaustion as she turned it on.

Light flooded her senses; it seemed as if the lid to the toy chest had been pried open. She could see the little girl's face, her outstretched arm, and reached out to grasp it. The blood pounded in her ears, like an ocean wave.

Something burst in her eyes, and she was lifted up.

When Sabrina came to, she has curled in a small heap on the floor, next to the toy chest, with Salem licking her face. _How did I get out?_

Sabrina closed her newly opened eyes, and groaned. "I don't think I can get up," she mumbled.

Leota watched from a short distance away. "What hurts, honey?"

"Not **hurts** as much as **aches**," the Spirit Detective replied from the floor. "It feels like I wiped out on one gnarly shredder."

"Surf's up, dudes," Salem added. "Since when did you become interested in surfer lingo?"

Sabrina briefly considered explaining the strange emotion—and the little girl—but decided against it. "No reason," she mumbled. _I don't think Salem would understand, anyway. He may be as supernatural as I am, but his sense of the spiritual is definitely lacking._

Leota watched the tired girl carefully. _Something seems so different about her now. Not exactly mature, or enlightened, but…different. More powerful, somehow._

Sabrina raised her head, looking out over the classroom. Standing in the center was the little girl, smiling shyly at the black-clad teenager.

The little girl didn't see the swarm of ghosts coming through the wall; gaping maws open wide in voiceless shrieks…

Sabrina's eyes widened, filled with visions of the sweet little girl being torn to shreds from those wicked, sharp claws, despite her being a ghost. Rage filled her body, pounding steadily in her chest. _How dare they violate a place like this?_

Sabrina fumbled for the Beacon, pulling energy from it rapidly. She screamed as she launched several Power Shots in a volley, showering around the little girl, but nowhere _on_ her.

She panted, eyes narrowed. The little girl stared, slightly awe-stricken, and slowly walked forward. She squatted next to the bigger girl, soft, sky-colored eyes focused on Sabrina's sapphire-hued ones.

Instantaneously, vague puzzle pieces fused in Sabrina's mind. "Emily…" she hissed, her voice a dying rattle.

The little girl's face brightened. She reached her arms toward Sabrina. The Spirit Detective hesitated for a moment. _Why is she here? Is there something she wants? Or, maybe, is her soul trapped in this room?_

Emily giggled at Sabrina's confused expression. She looked up shyly, her arms outstretched again. The Spirit Detective sat, puzzled. _Is there something she wants?_

_The doll. Of course! She wants her doll!_

Sabrina turned, picked up Lydia carefully, and presented her to the ghost. Emily's face lit up like a child opening a Christmas present. She cradled the doll close to her chest, rocking it.

The girl looked up, and she began to melt and run before Sabrina's very eyes. Emily shifted into a girl many years older: Sabrina's age, at least. This 'new Emily' was…beautiful. She had a soft, delicate heart-shaped face with large, melting cornflower eyes. Her face was framed by curling blond locks, spilling onto shoulders clad in a lace collar. This older Emily wore a full-skirted blue silk dress, trimmed with lace.

Emily smiled shyly, clutching her doll. "_Please be careful. Please. We need you. We need you to save us."_

Sabrina swallowed dryly, trying to speak. "I know. I-I'm trying."

"_I know you are. I am grateful. But still…please hurry. Time is running out for us."_

Emily smiled and stood up, still holding Lydia the doll. A small, dark boy, clad in navy, appeared at her side, and looked up at her. Emily grinned down at him.

The little boy (_Daniel_, Sabrina realized) turned to give Sabrina a gap-toothed grin before he and his sister vanished into wisps of smoke.

Sabrina sat, shaking slightly.

"Emily…Daniel…" Leota murmured. "It's been so long since I've seen them."

"You can see them, too?" Sabrina demanded, bewildered.

"Of course," Leota replied, somewhat annoyed. "We ghosts can see our fellow kind."

Salem blinked huge amber eyes. "What ghosts?"

"You didn't **see** them?" Sabrina yelped.

The cat scowled. "No. Would you care to elucidate?"

Sabrina sat, dazed, in a heap on the floor as Leota began softly explaining to Salem about the presence of the Gracey children's ghosts.

_What is this power? What is it doing to me? Can I…**see** things? Is this some sixth sense? I don't understand… I have to find Master Gracey. He can explain all this; I'm sure he can._

She stood up, determination etched on her face. She gripped her hands in fists, only to find a tattered scrap of parchment in one. She examined it. _Another piece of a Death Certificate. I wonder whose it is?_

Sabrina scooped up Leota and put her in the backpack, over the psychic's protests. Sabrina tucked Salem into her arms, and started out.

But as she exited the room, she could hear, very faintly, the sound of children's laughter…

* * *

Apologies for anyone who thought the puzzle was too glossed-over. In all honesty, I didn't like this room's puzzle that much, so I struggled to write this.

Emily is actually a character in the ride—just in different format. In the ride, 'Emily' is the Bride in the Attic…you know, the one with the glowing heart and the candle? Her loving fans dubbed her 'Emily Cavanaugh Gracey.' As I said before, however, this story is a combination of everything HM, so I used Elizabeth from the movie as the Bride. Emily has been relegated to a 'minor' role as the ghost of Master Gracey's long-dead sister. 'Daniel' is the fan-created name for the gardener, who supposedly is Master Gracey's half-brother. Here, he has been given the role of Edward Gracey's dead brother.

Sabrina has now learned to tap into her Spirit Energy, thanks to the events in the Toy Room. For those unfamiliar with Yu Yu Hakusho, spirit energy (or 'reiki') is the energy your soul gives off…more or less. It's hard to explain. But it can be used to fight, and for all sorts of nifty things. This ability was triggered by Sabrina's sympathy opening to the Gracey family. When she saw them as more than a group of portraits, belongings, and a house, and as real people, her abilities became opened.

Sabrina will be getting all sorts of new powers, thanks to her 'awakening.' What happened here? She gained ESP, and an ability I like to call 'perception.' Simply defined: Sabrina is able to tap into residual traces of Spirit Energy on an object. (For example, Emily's beloved doll Lydia) By tapping into these energy traces, she is able to pick up visions, memories, previous thoughts, emotions, etc. So, to explain, Lydia was much treasured by Emily, leaving a strong psychic imprint on it. When Sabrina picked up the doll, she was able to tap into this imprint (created by Spirit Energy, which still lingers on the object), and connect partially with bits and pieces of Emily's psyche, such as the memory of Emily and her brothers.

…So, yeah, that's one of her neat powers as Spirit Detective. The others will come in later fics. (Winks)

Next chapter: How can anyone be studious in the Study when there's moving furniture to play with? Sabrina may finally get some questions answered when she meets the elusive, mysterious Master Gracey…


	17. The Secret in the Dark

"Where to go, where to go…" Leota mused as the small group exited the Toy Room. "We're starting to wind down on rooms here, guys."

"Yay." Salem yawned to show his indifference, and carefully stretched, the backpack bulging with his movement.

"Watch it," Leota mumbled halfheartedly.

Sabrina was not paying attention to either of them; she was preoccupied with her own thoughts. _There has to be some explanation for this. Some rational explanation—if the supernatural can be deemed 'rational.' I've never been able to do that before. What triggered it? Was it Emily?_

"Sabrina?"

The blond witch's eyes flew open as Leota curiously called her name. "Sorry, sorry!" she chirped. "Just…erm…wondering where we go next!"

"Well…" Leota mused, "why not try the Study?"

"Why not, indeed?" Salem asked dryly. Leota shot him an annoyed look.

The Study was one of the small galleries that opened off from the main hallway. The carpet in this niche was of cinnamon browns and soft blues, slightly less stiff and dusty than the other hallway carpets. The wallpaper was cream-colored, decorated with a lacy and ornate dark-gray pattern that reminded Sabrina of wrought iron.

_Why are no monsters leaping out?_ She bit her lip. _It's crazy—if they chase after me, I get mad. If they __**don't**__ chase after me, I get nervous. The sooner I get out of here, the better._

She pushed the door opened and stepped inside. The Spirit Detective gasped at her first glimpse of the inside.

The room was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.

It was small, but cozy. Octagonal tiles of cream-and-gray covered the floor. Occupying the center of the room was a low couch, richly upholstered in a deep shade of ruby. Before it was a small table with a few assorted trinkets, like an exquisite gold pocket watch under a bell jar. Two other similarly upholstered chairs sat protectively around the table.

At one end of the room sat a marble fireplace, with a massive desk covered in books and paperwork directly in front of it. Sabrina slowly drifted over to examine it. Scholarly-looking papers, as well as several concerning a shipping company, littered the area closest to the chair. Her fingers brushed a horrendously dusty glass table lamp, and examined a small marble bust of Plato seated on the other end. She held up a slender, dagger-like letter opener, admiring the carving of ivy on the side.

"The Gracey family made their fortune in their shipping company," Leota explained, "which is why Master Gracey's grandfather built the house here: it was advantageous to the trade."

"So that's why it was built next to a river!" Sabrina exclaimed. _Now it makes sense…_

Leota nodded. "There even used to be a ship weathervane atop the house, installed by Master Ambrose himself. When Master George inherited the estate, he had it removed. He thought it was tacky."

Salem snorted. "Right. Like building your house next to a field full of dead people isn't tacky, either."

"Oh, hush," Sabrina murmured absent-mindedly, as she examined an elephant tusk in a holder. Many other artifacts and souvenirs were distributed around the room: a magnificent specimen of a samurai armor suit, a large globe in a wooden stand, a glass box containing several (apparently rare, according to Leota) specimens of insects, and dusty tables filled with odd kinds of mechanical whatnot. Salem recognized something called a gyroscope, explaining how it worked to the group.

As she stepped into the middle of the room, Sabrina realized it had two floors; a wrought iron staircase led to a second floor lined with bookshelves. On one side of the second floor was a beautiful brass-and-ivory telescope.

Her eyes lingered on the golden chandelier, before fastening on the portrait over the fireplace. "That," Leota proudly proclaimed, "is Master Gracey himself."

The Master of the Manor appeared to be in his late twenties when the portrait was made, and was darkly handsome. Tousled waves of black hair topped an aristocratic face with highly defined cheekbones. Sabrina noted the proud tilt of the shoulders, the straight, clean line of his jaw, and the clear, broad forehead. The viewer's eyes, however, were automatically drawn to the young man's eyes. Piercing, penetrating hazel eyes bore into the viewer, as if discerning the secrets of those of flesh and blood, but retaining its own enigma.

_Those eyes…they're amazing. I wonder how the artist managed to capture that look._

A wave of self-consciousness swept over the Detective, and she raised a hand to her braids, which must have been unraveling slowly from the night's adventures. _Wait. This is silly. It's a picture, not a person. I don't need to be worrying about how I look._

With a faint snort, she lowered her hand from her hair.

"This is what we need!" Salem remarked enthusiastically, surveying the portrait. "A portrait of **me** over the fireplace in the music room back home."

Leota rolled her eyes. "Of course. Just what the Spellmans need."

Salem puffed up with pride. "I **am** a remarkable specimen of manhood, aren't I?" he purred.

"Right down to the arrogant pride," Sabrina mumbled, moving off to examine the rest of the room.

The extreme end of the room, opposite the fireplace, was a large window showing nothing but a dark tree. Leota, rolling over, noticed Sabrina's faint look of confusion.

"It only grew there a few decades ago," she explained, referring to the obstructing vegetation. "There used to be a magnificent view of the oak grove in the back of the house."

It didn't do much to improve the view, in Sabrina's personal opinion. The offending tree loomed sinister just outside of the window, like a silent threat. Sabrina shuddered and turned away.

"Where's that light switch?" she wondered, turning and twisting about. "I don't see it anywhere!"

"Suffice to say, it's **somewhere**," Salem drawled.

Sabrina scowled. "Thank you, Watson."

"Anytime," the cat smugly noted.

"It seems a bit redundant to ask, but would it be there on the mantel?" Leota suggested.

True enough, centered on the mantle, between two bronze vases (which Salem hypothesized to be urns holding dead Graceys), was a small, pulsating switch.

"One problem. How do we get up there?" Sabrina pointed out. "This is like the Foyer all over again. I can't get up there. It isn't possible."

"What if you moved the desk over, and stood on it?" Salem offered.

Leota negated this. "It's much too heavy to move. Believe me. It took four Mansion handymen together to lift that monstrosity."

"What about the chair?"

"Nowhere near big enough."

As the two conjectured as to how Sabrina could reach the light switch, the girl in question was poking around Master Gracey's desk. Admittedly, she should have been investigating the room to find a route to the switch, but Master Gracey had too many fun toys on his desk for her to ignore.

She found a tortoise-shell cigarette case with gold filigree. She admired it, holding it up where the light of the Beacon could shine on the metal. No sooner had she put it down than she saw the ship-in-a-bottle paperweight, next to the small bust of Plato. She reached across the desk for it.

However, she misjudged the distance, and ended up smacking Plato in the head. And, quite unexpectedly, the great philosopher's head tilted back, as if on a hinge.

The Spirit Detective's mouth was set in a little 'o' of surprise. "Oops."

"Sabrina, did you break something?" Leota called wearily.

"May-" Sabrina was cut off by a strange rumbling and squeaking.

"Great. You broke the Study," Salem scowled at her.

Before the witch could retort, the furniture began lifting upwards. Chairs, sofas, and the desk she was standing at slowly rose into the air. Sabrina squealed and backed up, lest she get hit in the head by a flying settee.

"Why are you so upset?" Salem called from under the globe stand. "We do the same thing at home when Hilda vacuums."

"Yeah, but **then** I know **who** and **what** is doing the lifting!" she shouted back. The Detective cautiously viewed the room. The furniture was indeed levitating, and…that was about it. No strange creatures swooping at her, no strange disturbances in the room…just a chain of floating furniture leading her to the light switch.

The more Sabrina thought about it, the more she was convinced that there had to be a catch. Probably the instant she stepped on the highest-up piece, they would crash to the ground.

_But then again, almost the same thing happened in the Conservatory, and I was okay…there's no other option. I'll have to do it._

Cautiously, Sabrina climbed onto a floating footstool. It quivered slightly under her weight, but she half-jumped to a chair before it could do anything. It was a slow climb: she carefully jumped from piece to piece, heading in a straight path.

The furniture was dusty to the touch (with clumps of dust breaking loose everywhere), but solid, and—except for the weak footstool—offered no resistance. Thankfully, the samurai suit had remained in place. She wasn't very fond of the idea of climbing over it—especially with the sharp-looking plates of armor.

Nevertheless, she felt safer once she had reached the sofa, and began slowly reaching for the mantle. Her hand grazed the edge, and began groping along its length. _Where __**is**__ it? It was here before!_

Finally, Sabrina's fingers fastened around the switch, and she yanked, feeling the handle yield. The chandelier's globes burst into light, as did several wall lamps and a flickering gas one. Carefully, the furniture began to move back to their respective places.

Slightly terrified, Sabrina clung to the sofa as it gently soared to the middle of the room, and settled down in its former position. She remained there for a few seconds more, to make sure it wouldn't move again. Satisfied that it was still, she pried herself out of the seat.

"That was unusual," Salem commented, golden eyes blinking as he crept from under the globe.

"Well, it's done now," Leota shrugged. "Time to get to work." She gently rolled over to Sabrina's feet, waiting for the girl to pick her up and place her in the backpack.

Sabrina stared at the painting. "Not yet."

"Excuse me?" Leota blinked.

"Not yet." She pointed, and the other's eyes followed.

A soft, whitish-blue light was draining out of the portrait of Edward Gracey. The ball of light—or energy, or whatever it possibly could be—slowly drifted down, floating to hover before Sabrina, and then moved, lazily, before the desk.

Salem padded over, Leota's ball rolling along, as Sabrina stood still in shock. The ball began to swell and lengthen, eventually forming the figure of a man.

Sabrina didn't need Leota's sharp intake of breath to tell her who it was going to be.

The ghostly man before them was impeccably dressed in charcoal trousers, a soft black jacket, a golden waistcoat, and a ruby crushed-velvet cravat. His hair was more tousled than in his portrait, and his eyes more incisive and inscrutable than paint could have ever hoped to capture.

Edward Gracey smiled faintly at his audience.

"I welcome you to Gracey Manor," he greeted them in a soft but clear voice. "Although, I do wish that your visit could have been under more…_amenable_…circumstances. I am Edward Gracey, Master of the Mansion."

_It's like we're being introduced to royalty…_ Sabrina thought briefly, noting the gaze was directed mostly at her.

"And you are?" he asked, with a small smile.

"Sabrina Spellman, currently Spirit Detective of the Other Realm." Unsure of 1800s etiquette, she extended her hand. _What he does with it is up to him._

He caught her hand (_He's insubstantial! How does he do that?_ she wondered), and briefly pressed his lips to it. "The pleasure, Miss Spellman, is all mine."

His gaze transferred to Salem. "And who is your companion?"

"Huh? Oh, that's Salem," the teenage witch replied, slightly dazzled by his sophisticated charm.

"Salem Saberhägen. Former warlock, once near-leader of the free world, currently a familiar and housecat," Salem replied, shooting an annoyed glance at Sabrina. _I hope she remembers that the guy's engaged._

If Edward was shocked and surprised to meet a talking housecat, he covered it well. He gave the cat a half-bow, before turning again.

This time, shock and surprise were clearly written across his face as he saw the psychic. "Leota," he gasped, upon seeing the Creole woman.

Leota smiled warmly at him. "It's been far too long, old friend."

The lines slid from his face as he returned the gesture. "Indeed." He looked up at his living guests. "Please," he gestured toward the sofa, "have a seat. We have much to discuss, and very little time to complete it in."

"Time, time," Salem grumbled, "everyone's always talking about time, and we don't know how much of it we have, or what's left. I don't even know if it's tomorrow yet!"

Edward gravely looked at Salem. "We may never see tomorrow, if your task is left incomplete."

As soon as the girl was seated comfortably, Salem curled up beside her, and Leota's crystal ball placed on the coffee table, Edward sat down in a chair opposite that of the couch. He leaned back, resting his arms on the chair's wooden ones.

"I presume you have questions that I may answer?"

"Only about a thousand!" Sabrina burst, leaning forward. "Who **is** this Thorne guy? Why is he here? What's going **on** here?"

Edward laughed slightly, holding up his hands. "One at a time, please!" he chuckled merrily, before stopping. "It all begins with the Beacon, I suppose." All four turned their eyes to examine the relic seated innocuously on the other side of the sofa. "Leota told you some of its history, I suppose?"

"It was made by Druids, and Thorne wants it so he can steal its power," Sabrina summarized. "That's all I've been told." She shot an accusatory glance at Leota.

If the psychic had hands, they would have been held up in a 'don't blame me' gesture. "I told you, there's a time and a place for everything. Besides," she turned to her fellow ghost, "some of these things should really be told from Edward himself."

Edward smiled wryly at the Creole. "Thank you for the vote of confidence." Leota smirked. He turned his attentions to the blonde.

"What Leota told you is correct, but it is not the **full** story, nor the full truth."

"I gathered as much," she mumbled, before letting him continue.

"The Beacon was passed down in the Brotherhood, constantly changing hands, always trying to avoid the Order. However, this operation was somewhat flawed, as back then, there was only so much of the 'civilized world' out there for it to be in."

A light of understanding slowly dawned in the girl's eyes.

"To add to the difficulty," Edward continued, "witches—your kind, I believe, if you are from the Other Realm, as you say—were being forced to retreat into hiding as public opinion soured against them. They were forced to admit humans into the ranks of the Brotherhood at last.

"It was in the late eighteenth century that my grandfather, Ambrose Gracey, joined the Brotherhood. He was a human sea captain from England, young and very idealistic—and very ambitious. He agreed to undertake the burden of hiding the Beacon. Grandfather was head of my family's shipping company, back in England, but he was having a home built in the New World."

"This house?" interrupted Salem.

Edward smiled and nodded. "This very house. He secretly designed hidden rooms and chambers in which to store the Beacon-"

"One of which we found in the Foyer," the cat interrupted again, as Sabrina scolded him.

Edward smiled wryly. "Indeed. It was after Grandfather died that my father came into possession of the Beacon. By that time, the Brotherhood had kept up the ruse of hiding the Beacon in Europe, which was apparently severely upsetting the Order—their numbers had dwindled since the Inquisition, and the members were getting desperate. Father, however, believed that we had nothing to fear from the Order, since he hadn't heard news of them in years. So, he locked the Beacon away, and raised a family."

"We met your brother and sister in the Toy Room," Sabrina offered shyly, unsure of how the man would take the news.

A bittersweet smile slipped across Edward's face. "I believed you might. We had so many happy memories together in that room, that it seemed to be a logical place to find them."

"But why was it so…peaceful?" Sabrina asked, leaning forward intensely. "I don't understand. Just like this room, it was free—or, mostly free, from enemies." Her face momentarily darkened, thinking of the spirits that had tried to harm Emily.

"Part of it is due to the fact that we are the owners of the house. For some odd reason," Edward began to explain, "we hold more power of this place than most of the other ghosts. I presume that it was Emily and Daniel's power—or perhaps those joyful memories that filled the room—that preserved it from the evil rotting away at this house. As for this room," he continued, "I beg your forgiveness from any vanity I might be professing, but I hold the most power over Gracey Manor—power, though, and not magic." He sighed moodily. "If I possessed magic, perhaps this would never have taken place."

Leota gently chided him. "Edward, stop it. You are not at fault."

"If only I-"

The psychic shook her head. "You can't change the past. It's all said and done. Don't blame yourself."

Edward rubbed his head. "True…" He stared, broodingly, over Sabrina's head for a moment, looking into nothing. It passed, and the urbane young master reappeared. "My power over this house has allowed me to transform this into my own little sanctuary, of sorts." He laughed bitterly. "My spirit was actually locked into this room. The most I could do was preserve the way it had been, and keep Thorne's blasted Netherworld nuisances out." He looked, startled, at Sabrina. "I beg your pardon for my language, Miss Spellman."

"It's all right," Sabrina muttered self-consciously, thinking of the expression on his face if he'd heard some of her epithets earlier on in the night.

"To continue, then…" he prompted.

"So how did Thorne find out it was here?" she asked curiously. Edward gestured towards a lectern set near the window.

Sabrina slowly pried herself out of her seat and moved towards it. _The Tome of Shadows. Again. I hate this book…I really do…_

It flipped open at her touch, and she began to read aloud.

_Tome of Shadows_

_Volume IV_

_Page 320_

_The Beacon has turned up in the New World. Remnants of the Brotherhood have acquired an estate on the outskirts of the fever-wracked bayous of Louisiana and hidden it within. However, my scouts have sensed a powerful aura in the mansion that I will have to overcome. Though I cannot be sure, there is something familiar with this aura._

_A. Thorne_

_Grand Master_

_The Order of Shadows_

_April 30th, 1856 A.D._

"His…_scouts_…found it?" she asked, puzzled.

Edward shrugged. "The Order employed eyes and ears everywhere. The older, deposed members had left enough gold to satisfy any greedy human foolish enough to serve the Order as an informant."

Sabrina shut the book with disgust. "So that means someone your father trusted wasn't worthy of that trust."

"Quite so—that was written was I was a small child. But," he held up a hand, "that is of little consequence in comparison to the events at hand."

"So what do we do?" Salem asked. "We just seem to be running around wherever Madame Cleo tells us to."

"It's Madame **Leota**," the psychic sternly corrected, "and I told you—we have multiple jobs to do. We need to find the missing memories of my friends and all the Soul Gems to fully power the Beacon, if we want to save all 999 of the spirits trapped inside here."

Salem rolled his eyes.

"Ostensibly, yes, that is your goal," Edward agreed. "What truly needs to be done, however, is the complete destruction of Thorne. Only then will this curse be broken, and we can find peace."

"What curse?" Sabrina frowned. "Leota, you never mentioned a curse."

"The curse," Leota sighed heavily, "is this: Zeke Holloway and I hid the Beacon and its pieces around the Mansion shortly before Thorne took over the Mansion. We knew he would come, but we hoped to delay our destruction. Thorne was **furious**. He ended up raising the spirits of those buried on the Mansion grounds, and trapping them here. We can't leave to find our eternal rest. We're constantly roaming these halls, seeking a way out—when we're not being pursued by Netherworld demons, of course."

Sabrina and Salem sat is shock. "How horrible," Sabrina whispered. _To be trapped forever…to be denied rest in the afterlife…that is unspeakably cruel._

"The coward," Salem hissed. "When he can't get what he wants, he makes others suffer. And he calls himself a man? **I'm** twice the man he is!"

Edward smiled sadly at the cat. "You are correct in that statement, my friend," he murmured.

"So if you defeat Thorne, you'll lift the curse," Leota explained eagerly. "Now do you understand why I was so anxious?"

"So Sir Bertram and the other ghosts…" Sabrina mused, semi-ignoring Leota, and pondering her earlier statement.

"Hadn't necessarily lived here, but were buried on the grounds, but their spirits were raised anyway," Leota explained, understanding the vein in which the girl was going. "Understand, though, that not all of the ghosts realize this. For most of them, they're trapped in their own minds."

"They keep reliving that day," Edward whispered, staring at his hands.

Sabrina blinked, curiosity piqued. "What day? What happened?"

The dark-haired ghost slowly tilted his head upward. Dark, haunted eyes bore into her own. "You will find out, in time," whispered Edward. "You will discover the true tragedy that haunts Gracey Manor. It cannot come from my own lips, but you must seek the truth out."

The teenage witch stared at him, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. _Okay, he's cute, but he's officially creeped me out._

The dark young man sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "A thousand apologizes, Miss Spellman. It was not my intention to frighten you. Please, forgive my callousness."

"Uh…it's all right," Sabrina stuttered awkwardly.

Edward straightened out of his chair. "I have detained you long enough, I'm afraid. You still have much work to do. Please accept this small token of my gratitude." He lifted his hand, revealing a small scrap of yellowed paper.

She gingerly took the piece of a Death Certificate, and dug the other pieces from her backpack. Together, the crumpled scraps portrayed a picture of an opera diva on stage, resplendent in armor and a horned helmet. Her arms were thrown in a dramatic gesture, mouth open in a frozen trill. Above, the ceiling was slowly cracking in pieces, large chunks of stone falling onto the oblivious audience below.

Sabrina winced. "Apparently, this lady accomplished what Carlotta never did—she not only sang the chandelier down, but the ceiling, with it." At Edward's politely bewildered expression, she explained, "_Phantom of the Opera_."

If that made sense to the ghost, she didn't know; he merely flashed her a charming smile.

"We should really leave, you guys," Leota piped. Sabrina smiled sheepishly.

"Yes. Of course."

Edward Gracey stepped forward again and caught her hand, his lips briefly brushing the skin. "As before, a pleasure, my dear."

"Uh, yeah," Sabrina stuttered giddily. "It was nice meeting you, too. But we'd better get going, right, guys?"

Salem rolled his eyes. The small group made preparations to leave, Edward instructing them to return to the Study if anything went wrong.

_It's really nice in here,_ Sabrina thought as she carried Salem and Leota to the exit. _I don't really want to leave…Oh, God! I can't believe I forgot!_ She jumped guiltily. "Mr. Gracey, I almost forgot something important. Geez. I'm such a ditz sometimes, you know?"

Edward smiled patiently. "Yes, my dear?"

"Uh…" Sabrina stopped, not quite sure of how to phrase her statement. "I met Elizabeth."

His hazel eyes snapped intensely as he teleported to her side. "Elizabeth? You have seen my Elizabeth? Where is she? Is she all right? Has that scoundrel harmed her?"

"I-in the Maids' Room. She's fine—I think." She continued hastily at his anguished look. "She was dressed in a wedding gown, and I…I could see…" she swallowed. "Her heart was beating…through the fabric. I could see it beating and glowing." The last came out nearly in a whisper, the memory sharp and macabre.

Edward didn't seem to be bothered at all with the description. His eyes had slightly glazed over. "Elizabeth…" he whispered, the word hovering in the air. The bride seemed to almost be a tangible presence in the room.

"She said she was waiting," Sabrina whispered. "She told me to tell you that she's waiting for you—that she's always been waiting for you."

Something akin to desperate hope dawned in Edward Gracey's eyes. "So she's not gone then," he breathed. "Merciful God, she's still here?"

"It is true," Leota conceded, her voice taking a somewhat husky and mystic tone. "She walks these halls still."

Edward gripped Sabrina's shoulders. "Miss Spellman, I beg of you. Help us shake off this curse. Help us destroy this madman." His voice dwindled to a passionate whisper. "Help me find my Elizabeth. Please."

_He loves her so much…the two of them were desperately in love, and something horrible happened to them…How can I deny them, or any of these people, help?_

Sabrina raised her head, a proud tilt coming to her stance. "I will. I shall do everything in my power to help you," she swore. "I just need a little more time."

"Which we may not have much of," Salem quietly pointed out.

The group fell silent.

"True," Edward agreed, letting go of Sabrina. "You must make haste. I can tell you, the end is near, but still so far…"

Sabrina nodded, scooping up her companions into the backpack. "We're going. You can count on me, Mr. Gracey."

"I do," Edward softly noted as she proudly exited the Study, "I do have faith in you, Detective. Please, help us…"

* * *

For the curious, my version of Master Gracey is based on the actor who portrays his character in the movie, Nathaniel Parker. I am a **huge** Nathaniel Parker fan. Master Gracey and Elizabeth's love was part of the movie, although in ride legend, Gracey had his own love troubles, as well, especially involving the enigmatic Attic Bride…

The reference from "Phantom of the Opera" comes from Act One, Scene Nine of the play, where the characters are acting out an Italian play with the prima donna, Carlotta, in the lead role. The Phantom, who wants Christine to play the lead role, torments Carlotta as the chandelier starts to blink erratically, claiming "She is singing to bring down the chandelier!" …From all my sporadic references to it, you should understand by now that I love _Phantom of the Opera_. I feel that it goes along so well with the Haunted Mansion.

Next chapter:

The gang's all ready to soak up the sun, when their fun is interrupted…and the gang meets a diva who brings new meaning to the phrase "bringing down the house."


	18. Mystery By Moonlight

Sabrina shuddered faintly as the door to the Study slowly closed behind her. Edward had turned the room into a carefully guarded safe zone, pure and free from the twisting blight of the Mansion's curse. Now that she had retreated into the Hallway, all sense of security slipped away, like a gossamer scarf on a windy day.

_I can bet that there are no more 'safe rooms'…we'll have to be on our guard, more than ever. I don't know what Thorne has planned for us, but I can bet that it isn't pleasant._

She chewed on a lock of hair as she contemplated the dark warlock. _There's still something nagging at my brain…like there's something that I don't know, but I don't know what that something is…and I __**know**__ I should know it, but I don't, and…argh, this is making my brain hurt._ The Spirit Detective glanced at details of the Hallway as she continued.

_I know that Thorne wants the Beacon, but not exactly why…I mean, yeah, unlimited power's great, but there has to be a **reason** why he wants it…He can't be content with just sitting around this Mansion with a bunch of Netherworld demons, terrorizing ghosts. This is only a step in something much greater…I can tell. But the problem is: what does he want to do?_

"MAYDAY! MAYDAY!" Salem screeched as she continued, lost in her thoughts.

"HELLO! Walking Armor at six o'clock!" Leota yelled, wishing she had a corporeal body to shake the pensive girl with.

True to her companion's word, Sabrina whirled around to see a familiar suit of armor clanking down the hallway at top speed, a broadaxe raised high.

"What is WITH you people?" the Detective screamed, annoyed. "Don't you have anything BETTER to do with your time?" Not waiting for a reply (and not expecting one, either), she let loose a flurry of Power Shots. The Armors, she discovered, were rather resilient, requiring several volleys of energy to take them down.

Once the medieval miscreant had been properly disposed of, Sabrina looked around the Hallway. "Oh great. We're lost."

"**You're** lost, maybe, but **I'm** not. I used to live here, remember?" snapped Leota.

"Oh, yeah." Sabrina rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

Leota sighed gustily. "We'll try the Sun Room. It's down and to your right."

"Yeah, Sabrina!" mocked Salem, "what's wrong with you? Geez, you forgot Leota liv-" The cat soon found himself dangling from the scruff of his neck, the Detective's arm swung back and ready to send the cat sailing. "Never mind!" he wailed.

With Salem stowed back in the backpack, grumbling about contacting PETA, Sabrina continued walking down the hallway, counting doors as she went. No other creatures accosted them; it was as though the witch's fragile temper was a threatening, tangible presence in the Hallway.

"Here we go," she murmured as they stood before the correct door. _I wonder what a Sun Room is…_

She swung the door open, quickly scanning the room. The word 'austerity' came quickly to mind.

It was an average-sized room, built of aged marble. The furthest wall was mostly composed of windows displaying a cobalt sky. Lightning occasionally flashed through the gray rain now persistently pounding onto the grounds. Half of the far wall had been set farther back, allowing a small niche. In one corner of the room was a raised section stabilized by a few pillars.

Sabrina's attention was immediately diverted to the many full-length mirrors scattered throughout the room. Intrigued, she examined the nearest one. A small metal device poked out of the floor before it. _Why would these be here? And what's a 'Sun Room,' anyway? What's the point to it?_ Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed what appeared to be a small crystal sphere in a gyroscope, with large rings surrounding it like a cage.

_What is **this**? It looks like some kind of jewel or something…_

"Leota, what is this doing here?" Sabrina called as she carefully stroked the cool, slick surface of the gem.

The psychic's lips turned up in a half-smile. "You'll find out soon enough."

Sabrina scowled at the indirect answer, and began prowling the rest of the room. Something white caught her attention, drawing her closer.

A faint, soft beam of moonlight shone through the furthest window, leaving a small pool of silver on the pale marble. Sabrina marveled at the pale light, reaching one hand out to let the moon shine upon. "Pretty," she admired.

She drew closer to the window, examining the heavens. A soft, wan moon shone high in the sky, feeble beams gently falling upon the earth. Even the moonshine was dulled here; it was as if the celestial orb had been weakened itself from Thorne's blight.

"Okay then," she said out loud, unexpectedly. "We have a bunch of mirrors and a weird jewel. How does this pertain to finding the light switch?"

"In case you haven't noticed, there **is** none here. However, the answer to your question seems quite **obvious**, unless you haven't caught on by now," Salem pointed out lazily.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"Always glad to help." The cat yawned and curled up, watching her through slitted eyes.

The girl made a face at his laziness, and then began to chew on a fingernail as she thought. _I realize that I'm a Detective and all now, but…this definitely has me stumped. What do mirrors and a jewel have to do with each other? Is this the puzzle?_

Something pricked at the back of her mind. "Oh, Leota…" she trailed in a singsong voice.

The psychic's eyes briefly closed, before opening and glowing a brighter shade of blue than normal. "_Through the window, moonlight gleams; to light the crystal, aim the beams_."

Sabrina blinked. _Okay…so I need to make the crystal light up…and to do THAT, I need to make the moonlight hit it…but how?_ Without realizing it, she voiced her last query aloud.

As if in direct response, a small wheel—like that found on a piece of machinery to turn a gear—floated before her, bobbing jauntily.

"Would you take that as a 'how'?" Salem replied, smugly.

Sabrina shot him an evil look before leaning down and contemplating the wheel. She had learned not to question how the inanimate objects in the Mansion moved by themselves, but the idea of a floating piece of machinery **still** remained somewhat questionable in her mind.

Next, she examined the mirror to her right, and the small metal gear-like contraption poking out from the floor before it. She squinted. _Wait a minute, there's a hole of some kind here. I wonder if that would fit in it…_ She turned to reach for the wheel, but it had already floated in front of her and settled snugly into the shaft.

"Why, look at that!" Leota exclaimed. "It's the same kind of gear used in the Winter Garden!"

Sabrina's lips pulled back in a confident grin. "And I bet that it works the same way, too." She reached forward, and quickly turned the wheel. With a creaking sound, the mirror began to swivel to the right. Satisfied for the moment, the Spirit Detective stepped back to admire her work.

"That means that these all work more or less the same way," she announced to the psychic and the cat. "The only problem would be moving the wheel to the other shafts."

As if to oblige, the wheel floated out of the shaft and hovered next to her. The girl blinked. "Uh…thank you."

Sabrina slowly meandered about the room, wandering over to the corner that was set back further. She noted two suits of armor standing in front of pillars. _Note to self: make sure those don't start to attack me._ A few assorted ghosts drifted out of the wall, swiping at the girl with elongated claws that served as hands.

She found that splitting her attack into a three-pronged pattern worked very nicely on hordes of ghosts swarming towards one _en masse_. She especially liked watching the little bullets of glowing yellow energy pierce through the wispy forms. _If this keeps up, I'm going to turn into some kind of sadistic freak._

Finally, the Spirit Detective cleared the room of ghosts and stood in front of the pale moonbeam falling onto the floor. _I see now…if you turn the mirror right next to this beam of moonlight, the light reflects off it. And it goes to bounce off that other mirror a few feet away._

"I get it!" she gasped. "We have to bounce the light off the mirror's surfaces!"

"ALL of them?" Salem stared at the dozen or so mirrors placed through the room.

"Just enough to make a path to the crystal," Leota explained.

Sabrina gave her friend an arch glance. "I thought you weren't explaining the puzzles."

"To **you**," the psychic teased. "**You're** the Detective here, honey. You have to figure these things out. **I'm** here to explain things to that cat of yours."

Salem bristled at the comment, but decided against starting another insult war with Leota. Sabrina needed the relative silence to concentrate. Besides, heckling the psychic meant that she might not help them in the next room…

The obliging little wheel hopped into the shaft and allowed Sabrina to begin to push and pull. Salem hissed slightly at the loud, obnoxious creaking sound the hinges made as the mirror swiveled.

The mirror swiveled to face the moonlight, which now bounced off of it and struck a mirror across from the first. Salem padded along as Sabrina walked over to swivel **that** one.

After the third or fourth mirror, Salem dragged the backpack with Leota over to the base of the crystal, and began offering 'hints' as to which direction the mirror should be turned in. "Left! Left! …Your **other** left!"

"Turn it that way! No, not **that** way, the **OTHER** way!"

"Put some muscle into it!"

Sabrina finally straightened up, flicked a braid over a shoulder, and leveled a glare at the feline. "Would **you** like to do this, or would you rather I turned you into a fondue set as a housewarming present for the ghosts?"

Salem blinked and paused. "Great job! I always knew you could do it, Sabby girl!"

Sabrina smirked as she continued turning the wheel.

Leota sighed quietly as she watched the girl continue with her job. _We're close to the end of our quest. I don't think they realize just __**how**__ close._ She sighed again softly, wishing she were back in her Séance Room, with her trusty Tarot Deck before her. _My Fortune Cards could always help me predict the future, since I can't do it on my own. I wish I knew what is going to happen…we've come so far, that I just couldn't bear it if we lost…_

The psychic watched the black-clad girl. _I couldn't stand it if something happened to her. Witch or not, she's the bravest person I've ever known, risking her life to save __**us**__. But all I can do is be patient, and give her clues. It's for her to piece together the mystery of the Mansion._

Sabrina yelped with surprise as the two suits of armor suddenly jerked to life and began clanking towards her. She yanked the Beacon back, letting the Soul Energy lace up her arm and gather into one pulsing orb.

"ULTRA SHOT!"

The Spirit Detective carefully angled the ball of energy so that it bounced off a nearby mirror and crashed into the walking pieces of metal. With a strange grunting noise, the Armors collapsed onto the floor, the broadaxes clanging as they struck marble.

Sabrina glared at the rapidly dissolving pieces of metal and blew a few stray wisps of hair out of her face. She turned and continued with her task, industriously fiddling with the mirror closest to her.

Salem amused himself by searching the room for spiders. Oddly enough, the strange little arachnids that had loved to torment Sabrina were absent from the room. The feline narrowed his eyes. _Something's wrong here._

"Got it!" Sabrina crowed triumphantly. The soft ray of moonlight bounced from mirror to mirror, a wispy beam connecting them. The light hit the final mirror, aiming directly for the gyroscope. The beam touched the gem, which began to glow.

The group stopped in awe, staring as deeper lights flickered from the gem's depths. The metal rims on the gyroscope began to move, the gem shining radiantly.

"Ooooh…."

"Shiny," Salem offered. The cat then stiffened, the bristles on his back raising. "Sssabrinaa…." He hissed.

The air was oppressive, stifling. The Spirit Detective could almost taste mold and mildew in the air; the stench of decay was everywhere.

The gyroscope slowly quivered to a stop, the gem's light slowly dimming.

Purple-black flames burst into existence, before melting away to reveal the form of Atticus Thorne.

_Maybe it's me, but this guy just doesn't seem to get it, does he?_

"**Still** here, Sabrina?" Thorne purred, amused. His voice personified the attitude of silk over steel, and contained all the soothing qualities of a death threat. "I thought you would have had the presence of mind to think of your health—after all, there are not many who can stay in Gracey Manor before losing their tenacious grip on sanity…"

"I'm still here," Sabrina growled. "And I swear that I will not leave until I've freed these innocent souls from your curse."

Pale, pencil-thin eyebrows raised in amusement. "Indulging in melodrama, are we? I would hardly have thought the role of the dashing hero—or should I say, **heroine**—to suit you, child."

Rage and humiliation pulsed through Sabrina's veins. "Skew the truth all you like, Thorne. I may be young, and to you I may seem naïve and weak, but I swear that I will stop you. Self-pretentious **bastards**," she spat, "like **you** make me sick. You think that your power and breeding makes you superior? By the end of the night, I will prove that you are nothing but a nasty little waste of space."

A cold alligator-like smile spread across Thorne's face. "Oh? Will you?"

Sabrina glared in response. _I never thought I could hate anyone as much as I hate Thorne…_

He gave a mock-sigh. "Unfortunately, little half-blood child, I shall have to rectify your sadly mistaken opinion." With that, he dissolved quietly into flames.

Sabrina gave a snort of anger. "I really hate when he does that."

As quietly as he had disappeared, Thorne teleported behind Sabrina, preparing to throw fistfuls of flames. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on Sabrina's sharp ears picking up the crackle of the fire. With record speed, Sabrina whipped around counterfired. Grunting in pain, Thorne teleported again.

Salem backed against the wall as he watched the battle progress: Thorne teleported around the room, slinging caustic comments, along with bunches of flames. Sabrina admirably attempted to track his movements, blasting away with Soul Energy whenever she was able to lock onto the wizard's form.

"An admirable attempt," Thorne purred as Sabrina panted, nearing exhaustion, "but do you really think that you have the strength to continue?"

Sabrina growled, faint beads of sweat beginning to appear on her forehead. _The coward…he keeps teleporting around the room. Too cocky and self sure to stand and face me._

Faster than she would have believed possible, Sabrina whipped a cord of Soul Energy up her arm, before lashing it out. Thorne gave another grunt of pain before collapsing into a pile of violet-and-black flames.

"I shall return," he hissed as he disappeared. "And **do** reconsider, child...these wretched souls are not worth **dying** for…"

Salem joyfully bounded over to Sabrina, nuzzling her ankles. "You sure showed him."

Sabrina rubbed her forehead. "I guess." She briefly fanned herself. The gyroscope began spinning again, the gem at its center emitting light again.

"_Laaaaa la la la_!"

Girl, cat, and ghost trapped in a crystal ball whirled to look at each other. "Which one of you did it?" Leota scowled.

"I was just talking, how could I have been singing?" Sabrina protested.

"Don't look at me; I stopped singing soprano a couple centuries ago," Salem pointed out in his usual rich tenor tone.

"And I wasn't talking, either, so…" Leota trailed off.

"LAAAAA! La la la LLLAAAA!"

The group whirled once again to see the ghostly figure of a woman slowly appear near the far window. Sabrina's eye twitched. "You've got to be kidding me."

She was clad in the style of a stereotypical opera diva: a long, flowing dress that clung to her enormous bosom, two pale braids that fell nearly to the floor, and a horned Viking helmet perched on her head. Of course, like most stereotypical opera divas, this woman was…about twenty or thirty pounds over what could be termed 'pleasantly plump.'

The ghost bent her arms forward in a dramatic gesture, and trilled a bit longer. "La, la la la, oh, do I have a pleasant surprise for you, dear! A little token of my thanks for helping us to beat back that horrible warlock." She straightened herself, her bosom bouncing in a manner Sabrina found vaguely comic. "Of course, it isn't every day that someone receives a present from the great Brunhilde! So, it must be special, indeed."

Salem rolled his eyes. "Even death can't dim a diva's pride."

With another dramatic gesture, a spark of blue light flared in Brunhilde's hands. It swelled and grew, light erupting to form a blue Soul Gem. Sabrina gasped as she accepted it. Deeper facets of cerulean and a pure sapphire shone on the walls.

Brunhilde sighed. "I used to have a pair of earrings like that," she murmured. "They were so **beautiful**…the way they caught the light. They would shine when I was on the stage." A wistful smile tugged at the woman's mouth. "Ah, the stage…that brings back so many memories…" Her boastful manner slowly crept back.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Sabrina whipped out the Death Certificate. "I believe this is yours."

"What?" Brunhilde turned, bewildered. "My—my Death Certificate? But how… Well, now…that makes everything a little more clear." She struck a theatrical pose. "When I was in my prime, I was a singer in the Grand Opera House! I was **superb**! Patrons came from all over Europe to see me in _Carmen_! I brought the house down!" She stopped, startled. "Well, goodness…" she started chuckling. "I guess I really **did** bring the house down the last time, didn't I?"

Unsure of what to say during this monologue, the group stared at Brunhilde.

She sighed gustily. "Oh, I **do** miss being alive. The thrill of the stage…my adoring fans…and the banquets for the performers…**oh**, I do miss those." She seemed to drift off into the distant past, in which the name 'Brunhilde' meant something, where **she** meant something…

"Caviar…beef ragout…cheesecake…pork chop sandwiches…Oh…the pork chop sandwiches…"

…or, simply, a past where she had been able to partake of her favorite delicacies without caution.

"Um, well, that's very nice, but we should probably get going," Sabrina hedged. She and Salem began to slowly back away from Brunhilde, who had begun lapsing into song.

Remembering how Brunhilde had died—and the fact that Leota's crystal ball was close to glass—the Spirit Detective grabbed her two friends and sprinted out of the room.

Brunhilde blinked at the departure of her audience. "Goodness. They were in quite a hurry. I didn't even get to wish them luck!"

She shrugged, and began singing again—for it was perfectly safe, now that the room had been 'cleansed.'

"…no thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy! No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love!"

* * *

"Brunhilde" is the name for the Opera Diva that is on her concept art for the movie. No lie. She's one of the very few ghosts that have names. Thank you, Mona May. (Brunhilde's rant about food is taken from the game) Also, the song Brunhilde sings at the end is from _Phantom of the Opera_ (little surprise) and is from Act Two, Scene Seven. The cast of the Paris Opera is performing "Don Juan Triumphant," an opera written by the Phantom. Christine plays the role of a young woman named Aminta, whom Don Juan is trying to seduce. Aminta sings those lines.

Next chapter: When Sabrina finds the next volume of the Tome of Shadows, she learns of one of Leota's problems…but that's nothing compared to the chess game they'll be forced to play…and what's this about a ring?


	19. Enemy Match

As the door slammed on Brunhilde's opening notes, Sabrina shuddered with relief. _I couldn't stand 'Hannibal' when Carlotta sang it, and I don't think my hearing would last through Brunhilde's rendition. I REALLY hope that isn't what she likes to sing in her spare time…_

"Ready to go to the next room?" Leota suggested.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Do you want a sarcastic answer?"

"No," Sabrina rolled her eyes. "It's okay. Which room is next?"

Leota pursed her lips in thought and frowned. "There are a few places that I can think of, but the Museum is the closest."

"How much money did this guy **have**?" Salem squalled. "It wasn't enough to have a collection of samurai suits or to have a Sun Room—he had to have a Museum, too?"

Leota gave a shrugging gesture.

"I'm guessing that if he was alive, Edward could outclass Donald Trump or Bill Gates with the sheer amount of money the Graceys had," Sabrina remarked, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Back in the heyday of the Gracey empire," Leota sighed. "If they weren't the wealthiest family in the New World, then they certainly were one of the most important; the family was one of the most influential in the South before the War Between the States. Stop, we're here."

Sabrina skidded to a halt, Salem tangling around her feet. After a brief moment of removing his claws from the laces on her boots, the blonde straightened up and removed the barrier on the door.

Her first thought was that the Gracey family must have bought marble in bulk, and she hoped they got a really good discount on it, too.

The Museum was massive, roughly the same height of the Ballroom, and constructed of a streaky gray marble. The floor was constructed in a chessboard fashion, of gray and charcoal-colored marble squares. Two massive vertical blocks of stone that served as columns stood directly in the middle of the room, suits of armor positioned at various corners.

Medieval and Renaissance tapestries covered the walls, many of them depicting scenes from the Age of Chivalry: King Arthur and Camelot, Tristan and Isolde, and even Robin Hood. A few swords and daggers were mounted on the wall, small bronze plaques identifying them as belonging to such-and-such nobleman from the 14th century, or being used in a certain battle.

A few marble and bronze statues littered the room, mingling with glass cases containing exquisite pieces of jewelry at least a few centuries old. Sabrina reverently passed her hand over a case containing the ruby and pearl necklace of an Italian countess. All sensibilities aside, she was still a typical teenage girl, in love with jewels.

Her head jerked up sharply, as she continued to survey the room. The far wall contained a massive marble fireplace, complete with velvet-lined chairs on either side, and topped with a golden Fabergé mantle clock. To the extreme right of the fireplace was a marble-laid recess with five statues of armor arranged in a line near the front.

_Charming. Looks like one of the Graceys was big into the Middle Ages…okay, enough of that. Where's that switch?_

Sabrina sighed and closed her eyes. The pulsing of the switch, she had begun to notice, had a signature aura much like the kind she felt in the presence of the sun. _Ergo, the switch and the sun both have the same energy of light. Weird, how I can pick up on aura types now…_

The familiar pulsing made a hum she could feel in her bones, resonating throughout her body. Moving toward it was instinct, and tapping its power was necessity. _It's coming…from behind the armor?_ Indeed, on the far wall of the recess, pulsing faintly, was the light switch.

"So where is it?" Salem grumbled, amber eyes darting around the room.

"There," Sabrina raised her arm to point. "The statues seem to be conveniently blocking the way."

"How considerate. You want me to slip between them?"

"We'll see," she murmured. "Let me finish looking at some of the stuff first."

She carefully examined a carved teakwood cabinet, inlaid with ivory. Through the glass doors were small silver trinkets—a miniature tea set, a snuffbox, a letter opener, and a brush-comb-and-mirror set—said to have belonged to an Austrian empress. _**Where**__ in the world did they get this kind of stuff? Was it because Grandpa Gracey was in the shipping business, so he came back with nifty little presents? Or did they get involved in something a little darker… Like…a black market on antiques?_

As her fingers brushed away the dust from the glass to get a better look, Salem padded towards the fireplace. The chairs on either side were bound to be better napping places than the marble floor, he reasoned, even if the chairs were most likely stuffed with horsehair.

Something rattled and clanked as the cat drew closer. _Did Sabrina break something __**again**__? I'm going to have to give her a strict talking-to…_ Annoyed, he looked up.

Four Armors, axes raised high, stood above the cat, poised to attack.

"KYYYAAAA!" Salem screamed and shot towards the fireplace, hoping to blend in with the soot, or maybe climb up the chimney.

The four axes crashed simultaneously into the floor a split second after the cat bolted. The suits of armor grunted as each began to pull its weapon back.

Thankfully, the sound of solid steel smashing into marble stone is very noticeable, even more so to Spirit Detectives who are prone to violent behavior in haunted houses. "EAT THIS!" Sabrina screamed, hurling an Ultra Shot toward them, and finishing with a three-way attack.

The most disturbing thing about the Armors, she decided, were the human-like screams and groans they gave when they were attacked, and when they were defeated. "I wonder why they do that?" she mused as she watched them disintegrate into nothingness.

"Do what?" Leota asked, muffled by the backpack's flap, which covered part of the ball.

Sabrina bent down and whisked the flap off. "Why they scream like that. It's like…" she trailed off.

"Like what?" Leota gently prodded.

"Remember…when I touched that doll back in the Toy Room, and I knew more about Emily?"

"You're saying this has something to do with your perception?" Leota frowned.

"Sort of…I think." The Spirit Detective hesitated. "I think that some of the energy from the people who used to wear those suits is lingering in the suits of armor themselves… and that Thorne is manipulating those small traces of energy with his powers."

"But couldn't he just be animating them with his own magic?" Salem suggested, slowly crawling out from under the chair where he'd hid.

"Maybe…possibly…oh, I don't know!" Sabrina moaned as she leaned against a column. "It was just a thought."

"But that shows that you're starting to analyze situations with your new powers," Leota pointed out. She paused. "That's a good thing, honey."

Salem rolled his eyes. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Martha."

"It's **Leota**," the psychic groaned.

Salem smirked, gracefully leaping over to Sabrina. The cat began to weave in and out of her legs. "This then begs the question of what we're going to do now."

"Find the light switch. I thought that was obvious," Sabrina rolled her eyes. "I'm on it; don't worry." She turned to face the gallery with the suits of armor, rolling her eyes as she went.

Salem scowled slightly after her, tail twitching in annoyance. A faint pulsing in his ears quickly caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eyes, tucked in a corner, was a bookstand, a brittle-paged tome open upon it…

Sabrina stood in front of the gallery, scratching her head as she examined the five statues before her. _Do I just move them out of the way, or what? I don't think I have the upper body strength required to pick up a 100+ lb. suit of armor. Maybe I __**should**__ get Salem to go through their legs and turn on the switch._

Turning around, she flicked a braid over her shoulder. "Hey Salem, I…"

Before she could finish her sentence, a gust of wind whipped around her. Dust and wind combined to swirl around the small gallery, enclosing the blonde witch in the miniature typhoon. Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut, shielding them with her hands to prevent dust from temporarily blinding her.

_I'd really like to know what is up with all these vacuums sucking me into these twisted puzzles that Thorne comes up with._

As the wind stopped sucking at her skirt, she slowly lowered her arms. _Lack of dust thrown in my face indicates that the mini-tornado is gone. Time to see if I'm in Oz…_

She carefully pried her eyes open to discover that she was standing on a chessboard. On either side were suits of armor in the positions of chess pieces. The side she was facing was composed of suits that had been brightly polished to mirror sheen. The angle that the light hit them caused the suits to reflect white.

Knights were suits carrying lances, riding on the armor that was used for horses. Cannons were used in place of castles; bishops carried bowling ball-sized maces; and the king and queen carried beautifully made swords, crowns placed on their heads. Average-looking suits served as the rest of the pieces.

Sabrina felt her mouth go dry as she surveyed the field. She was standing in the middle of the board—in the midst of a battlefield, as it were. Glancing to the side, she realized that the edges of the chessboard were in darkness; the board hovered as if suspended in the darkness. It reminded Sabrina too much of the pool table back in the Game Room, so she shut her eyes and turned to face the army behind her.

A mirror image of armored figures greeted her, the metal tarnished and blackened with age.

"They're white and black…like in a chess game," she murmured. _Well, duh, Sabrina, you __**are**__ on a chessboard, after all._ She frowned. _Something's not right here. But what?_

She squinted, surveying the rows of armor. Sure enough… "There's only one knight!" she gasped. The space where the second black knight should have been was only occupied by its armor-horse.

Sabrina's brain pieced together the information it was given. She was on a chessboard. The black side had one knight. Ergo, she was to be the black knight.

Sabrina blinked as the suits of armor in front of the missing knight's space moved aside to make room for her. "I really hate chess," she moaned as she walked towards the space.

Clambering onto the horse's back wasn't overly difficult; Sabrina pretended she was climbing onto a carousel horse. But the tight clenching of her stomach warned her that the ride ahead was going to be **anything** but fun.

Sabrina surveyed the battlefield. She'd only played chess a few times, one of them being the time she'd dropped in on a chess club meeting after school. Gordie Rhinehart, the team captain, had been noticeably flustered when she asked him to teach her to play. After all, not many people willingly flocked to the "geeks."

She hadn't been bad for a beginner, but Sabrina had only played a few times after that. _I really hope that it's one of those games that sticks with you forever, like Go Fish…_

White moved first, sending a pawn ahead two spaces. Sabrina began to command the chess pieces, instructing them when and where to move. _I feel like a general in an army…_

"Pawn to E-4!"

"Bishop, move diagonally four squares to the right!"

Slowly, piece by piece, Sabrina's confidence began to return, with each piece the black army defeated. In this game, the chessmen weren't removed from the board; they wobbled on their square and slowly sank into the ground with a grating noise, disappearing from view. Sabrina wasn't sure she wanted to know where they went. She only wanted to avoid being sent to the same place.

She was shaken up as a few of her own pieces were taken; the other knight was crushed by the white queen, and she shuddered in partial sympathy, partial fear.

Her eyes darted from square to square, mind whirling to work out ways to win. _I've got to win, I've got to beat this stupid game and get out of here!_

It was only after nearly being defeated by the white queen (the detective realized just in time that she would be taken on the next move) that Sabrina found herself able to move three squares diagonally to the right, and checkmate the king. A giddy sense of euphoria washed over her. _I did it! I really did it! I definitely need to thank Gordie when I get out of here._

The statues all began to wobble and sink into the ground, as the chessboard beneath her feet rumbled and shook from side to side. Sabrina shrieked and clung to her horse. "NOOO! I don't wanna go through the floor!"

The shaking reached a crescendo, with her teeth rattling in her head. _Is this what an earthquake is like? Great, now I'll fall off the horse and crack my head…_

The rumbling slowly subsided, finally stopping. Sabrina finally pried her eyes open. Somehow, she was back in the Museum. She was hunched on the floor, gripping her knees. _Where did the chessboard go? How did I get there in the __**first**__ place, and how…oh, never mind. There are things about this place that I'll __**never**__ figure out._

She carefully unwound, wincing at the white crescent marks her nails left on her knees. "Salem?" she called experimentally. "I'm back!"

The cat had climbed onto the ledge of the lectern and was examining the text. "Had you gone?" he asked absent-mindedly.

Sabrina scowled. _Stupid cat…doesn't even notice when I'm sucked into a pocket dimension to solve a stupid puzzle._ Shaking her head, she walked across the small gallery (the suits of armor had disappeared), and flipped on the switch.

An enormous iron chandelier lit up above their heads, looking much like a torture device from the Inquisition. As she searched for Shriveled Souls, the Spirit Detective kept looking over her shoulder at her familiar, still reading. _What's so fascinating about the Tome of Shadows?_

She pocketed the Death Certificate piece she'd found as she walked towards the cat. She inhaled the dusty scent that was quickly overtaking the stench of decay. _Ahhh. Much better._

"Sabrina…you may want to read this."

_Tome of Shadows_

_Volume V_

_Page 613_

_It is the fortune-teller who has been thwarting my minions at the mansion. How ironic that she now stands between me and my acquisition of the Beacon. She may be able to handle the lesser evil spirits, but she will not fare so well when I unleash the others. With the chaos of the war and the city in flames, I'm afraid the secluded estate is no place for a lady…to be alone._

_A. Thorne_

_Grand Master_

_The Order of Shadows_

_June 21st, 1862_

"Leota…did you _know_ Thorne?"

The psychic paused. Her crystal ball swirled navy and indigo. "In a way."

"Ya know," Salem drawled. "Knowing that would have kinda helped before."

Leota sighed. "Just hear me out. This is one of those things that had to wait for the moment."

"Then tell me," Sabrina commanded gently.

"Remember how Edward told you that Thorne had spies who told him that the Beacon was hidden in Gracey Manor?" She paused as her audience nodded. "Once Thorne had the information he needed, he immediately began traveling to New Orleans, in search of it. However, he didn't know that the Brotherhood employed spies of its own." She grinned for a moment, before continuing.

"Once he arrived in town, I was immediately alerted by Brotherhood agents at the port. It wasn't easy, since Union forces had invaded part of the city. I had forced the Graceys to leave for the country without me, so I could defend the Manor. Somehow, he found his way there…" Leota trailed off, her voice becoming slightly husky.

"Then what?" Salem urged. "Did he find the Beacon?"

"He challenged me for it. I battled some spirits he raised—he'd sent spirits to find the Beacon before, which I defeated, so it was easy—and then we dueled." Leota smirked at the memory. "He'd been out of practice for centuries, and I was much stronger than he thought. I ended up beating his sorry behind."

"You go, girl!" Sabrina cheered.

The Creole woman beamed. "Right on. He was so upset that he left in the usual pompous, overblown villainy way—vowing revenge upon us all, blah blah blah. But the important part was, the Beacon was safe."

"So, you two were rivals?" the witch mused.

"Sort of."

"Did you ever have another duel?" Salem asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, we…what on **earth** is she **doing**?"

Sabrina blinked and examined herself. Leota's comment, however, was directed towards another occupant of the Museum.

The ghost of a young girl in a frilly blouse, tailored skirt, and ruffled pinafore (reminding Sabrina of _Alice in Wonderland_) was examining the far wall, occasionally rapping at the stone, and pressing her ear against the wall.

Sabrina picked up Leota and drew closer.

"The walls have secrets…" the ghost murmured. "If only one could listen…"

Sabrina's eyebrow twitched.

The girl sighed in annoyance. "Where is it? Where is the ring?" She returned to examining the walls. "It must be here **somewhere**."

Sabrina began to carefully back away, worried by the ghost girl's behavior. _What ring? What is she talking about?_

She carefully stowed Leota in the backpack and grabbed for Salem, heading for the door. "I wonder why she wants that ring so badly," Sabrina pondered as she opened the door. "It must be something special."

* * *

I know virtually nothing about chess. What is written in the puzzle is mostly taken from J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone". In the actual game, you are plopped onto a chess-like grid with statues that periodically swivel to face different directions. The goal is to move across the board without them "seeing" you. And you do it five times. Each time gets harder. My little sister cried when I made her play it for me, because she hates the Museum puzzle so much.

Oh, and Gordie Rhinehart is an actual character from the show: he's this geeky kid who gets pushed around a lot by Mr. Kraft and Libby. He's a member of the chess club, a community service volunteer, and had (at least it seemed to me) a very small crush on Sabrina. Hence why he gets so flustered. ^^

Next chapter: You would think a place called the "Children's Room" would be a **happy** place. Instead, it seems like Sabrina's caught in a deadly cat-and-mouse game with a hidden adversary…


	20. Illusions of Evil

Sabrina shut the door of the Museum behind her, and wiped her face on her sleeve. _How long has this mission gone on? I slept a little, ate a little, and drank, but I can't go on like this forever…_

"I'm bored," announced Salem.

Leota swiveled in the bag to face him, staring incredulously. "Please tell me that you're trying to start a conversation," she begged. "We've been chased by monsters, fought against ghosts, nearly been killed repeatedly, and you're **bored**?"

"He also says that when we're watching the news," Sabrina shared. "We think he has the attention span of a goldfish."

"I do not—ooh! I think I saw a mouse!"

Before Sabrina could retort, the cat jumped out of the bag in one fluid motion, and streaked towards a small, dark shadow scampering along the hallway.

"Salem, get back here! You can't go off here **alone**! SALEM!" Sabrina shouted. _Oh, screw it._ The Spirit Detective immediately began running after her familiar.

The mouse twisted along the corridors, as the girl and cat strove to keep up. She thought she recognized doors and hallways, but she couldn't be sure. Finally, the group skidded to a halt as Salem cornered his prey. The cat dove, claws extended; the mouse scampered away, to a miniscule mouse hole in the wall.

"I almost had him!" Salem wailed.

Sabrina shook her head and sighed. "Leota, do you recognize where we are?" She squinted. "It's too dark to tell, but it looks familiar."

"This would be the wing devoted to the Gracey children. That door on your right leads to the Toy Room, remember?"

"That's where Emily and Daniel are," the teenage witch grinned.

"Correct. And on your right is the Children's Room."

"…Can we go in?"

"I should think we could. Try the door."

Sabrina raised her hand to the doorknob, feeling fire wash over her skin. The feeling subsided, and the doorknob yielded to her touch. As she opened it, she briefly wondered what they would find.

The darkened room was built on the side of the house, with a sloping roof on the right-hand side. The walls and floor were bare, made of plain, aged boards. There were perhaps ten iron cots with rotting mattresses on either side of the room. The only other furniture was a rocking chair and a few washstands with cracked porcelain pitchers and basins.

Windows on the right-hand wall displayed more of the gloomy, black-branched forest, and the persistent rain hammering at the grounds. Directly across from the door was a closet, an unearthly yellow light flashing like lightning in the crack below the door.

The three stared at the darkness and austerity.

"Maybe they mean a 'dark, hospitalized' Children's Room," Salem offered.

"Are you sure this isn't a contagious ward of a nineteenth-century hospital?" Sabrina blinked.

Leota gaped. "It sure has gone downhill," she murmured.

"From what?" Salem demanded.

"You know that Ambrose Gracey was the one who built Gracey Manor," Leota began.

"We've been over this four times already," Salem griped. "Yes, we know."

Leota continued, either ignoring the cat, or off in her own world. "He got married here, and brought up a family. Originally, this was their bedroom, and the Toy Room was their schoolroom…before they got old enough to have their own rooms, of course."

_You know, we haven't seen any of the bedrooms. I guess that's a…good thing?_

"And then when Master George inherited the house and had his own children, this room was used again."

"But why does it look like…" Sabrina trailed off.

The psychic bit her lip. "I don't really know. I guess that when Edward inherited the house, he had it renovated into a bedroom for the children of the servants. But, that doesn't really make sense…"

"I'm sure Edward would have made better living conditions," Sabrina stated.

"Yes, he would have." Leota sighed. "I guess it just adds to the mystery."

Sabrina surveyed the room again. "I don't think I like it here," she announced, and shivered. _It's so cold here, and the death-smell is even worse. This room is probably the scariest out of __**all**__ of them._

Salem padded around the perimeter of the room. "I don't see a light switch, Sabrina. And I don't see any monsters, either."

_This doesn't add up. Something's wrong here…very, **very** wrong._

"Leota?" Sabrina asked softly. "Can you think of something?"

The crystal ball swirled with turquoise and cerulean as Leota meditated. Sabrina had always wondered what the misty substance inside the crystal ball was. _I'm guessing now's not a good time to ask._

"_Within the closet awaits much more; but it takes true courage to close that door."_

"So I have to go into that closet," Sabrina murmured softly. _It certainly looks really freaky…_

A sudden subtle, menacing aura softly drifted towards the Detective from the door. _Something's not right with that closet._ "Salem, I want you to stay here."

The cat blinked. "What?"

"No, listen. Hide in the corner, or under a bed or the washstand or something. Go outside and into the Toy Room, if you want. But something very evil, very **wrong** is in this room, and I don't want it to affect you."

Even Salem could pick up the dark, oppressive aura permeating the room. It was not unlike Thorne's, but this had an under laced air of madness, horror, and decay. "The kids ain't alright," Sabrina muttered under her breath.

Salem stalked into a corner, where he curled into a jet-black ball. When he ducked his head into his body, nothing of the cat could be seen. Vaguely reassured, the black-robed girl cautiously walked to the door and opened it.

The closet was a coffin-like room, made of plain pine boards, and a metal rod upon which one could hang clothes. Nothing more.

Sabrina's heart pounded as she walked slowly into the room, shutting the door. Blackness surrounded her; the only light came from the crack under the door.

The hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. Some kind of aura was slowly drifting towards her, icy and faint. Her breath came in slow shudders as she stood.

"Sabrina…something's not right here…" Leota's voice shook with a faint note of fear.

And then it hit her like an arctic wave, pounding in her ears, washing over her and threatening to pull her under.

_**R****un**_.

"RUN, SABRINA! RUN NOW!"

As the wooden walls exploded in splinters and wind whistled as it was torn, Sabrina's feet propelled her down a wooden path before her, revealed once the wall was cut away. It was darker than anything she'd seen; a labyrinth of ancient rotted passageways. Rats scurried at her feet as she fled.

"Turn left!" Leota shrieked. Sabrina tore down the passageway. Whatever _**it**_ was that was chasing them… it was not at all far behind.

"There's a hole! Jump!" Her foot nearly caught on the edge, but with a shriek and a push, the board crumbled away and she frantically ran. "Turn right, Sabrina, turn right!"

Arms flapping useless at her sides, running faster than she ever had at track in her old middle school.

"Watch out for another hole!"

Something metallic tore at the wind, scarring it from side to side, inches from her precious braids.

"Next, turn left!"

Leota's voice was high-pitched, terrified, panic driving her to the breaking point.

"There's another hole! And another one!"

The rats and mice squeaked and scurried at her feet, running faster than she. Salem was a cat, and these were mice.

"Left! Hole right next to it!"

_**It**_ was a cat, and _**she**_ was a mouse.

"Turn right, Sabrina! Turn right!"

Boots pounded the ground, running faster than Atalanta. She ran on the wings of fear.

"Left! There!"

Heart racing, spots swimming in her vision. Something moving behind her.

"Jump over the hole!"

Panic and fear swam through her veins, fueling her flight.

"Right!"

She made a clumsy turn, her boots catching on a loose board. Would a second's stumble cost Sabrina her head?

It was a dead end, and her pursuer, gone. The path had led them to the nest of the mice and rats: straw and cloth from the torn mattresses littered the ground, squeaking mice climbing through their bedding.

Sabrina collapsed upon herself, sobbing and clutching at her shoulders. The panic had fled, but the fear and memory of scarred wind and dark tunnels had not.

"Wrong turn," Leota muttered sheepishly.

Wherever the psychic had intended for the girl to go, and why, would forever be a mystery. Sabrina cocked her head, listening for the thing again.

"It's gone," Leota murmured soothingly. "Let's go back now."

It took Sabrina a few minutes to stand up, and then Leota navigated the way back, not trusting the girl to remember which way they had come.

A door lay before them, where Sabrina could remember none. Opening it, she found it to be the inside of the closet. She reached her hand out for the second door, hesitating.

_Something **still** isn't right…_

Nevertheless, she grabbed the knob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

The dark, plain, mean little room greeted her again, a pair of familiar amber eyes watching from the corner. Had she been closer, the witch might have read gentle scorn in those eyes, but as she was, they were only two bright jewels gleaming from the shadows.

Sabrina smiled fractionally and stepped out of the doorway.

Ice blew up and down her spine, and a clammy odor clamped onto her senses, stifling them. She was overridden with panic, nausea tightening her stomach.

The Spirit Detective skidded around to see the closet door rattle and shake. A sharp metal blade suddenly buried itself into the wood, as whatever was inside tried to hack the door away. The blade pulled back, ripping off a section of the door.

The nausea worsened, blood roaring in her ears.

The blade continued to hack at the door, finally tearing the rest of the wood away. She trembled, as a shadow billowed out of the closet. Floating, filling the wall in front of her, was an emaciated figure swathed in robes of midnight blue and indigo. Sharp, bony white hands clutched a curved scythe. Sabrina stared dumbly at the wicked, gleaming blade.

Pounding filled her ears, spreading to her head. She fumbled with the Beacon, desperately trying to defend herself.

The Blue Ripper raised its scythe menacingly.

Dizziness smacked her brain and fled as the scythe swung in an arc, the air whistling in pain. The metal gleamed and Sabrina found herself skipping backwards, beribboned braids and lacy petticoats fluttering.

Soul Energy pulsed in her hands, forming into spheres hurled at the death spirit with reckless abandon.

_How can I defend myself against a six-foot-long scythe? I've got to jump fast, and keep moving._

Robes swirling, the Ripper swung the scythe carelessly at her, almost from the side. She screamed and jumped half-forward, half to the side, catching her foot on an iron cot. She tumbled, falling, with the cot overturning on top of her.

Metal clashed against metal as the Ripper struck again and again at the iron bed frame. Sabrina stared for a moment, dazed from striking her head against the floorboards, before sending out a volley of three-way attacks, surrounding the death spirit on all sides.

Managing to somehow disentangle herself from the bed, Sabrina heaved, throwing the frame against the Blue Ripper. Using her momentary advantage, she launched a second volley of shots.

Around the room she ran, like a frightened little black mouse being pursued by a huge blue cat with **very** sharp claws. The Spirit Detective managed to (perhaps by some luck, and some skill) dodge every swipe and slash.

Salem watched incredulously as she turned a back flip over a cot, landing on her feet to fire an Ultra Shot. It would take a few more, of course to finally destroy the Ripper.

Its 'demise' was silent, yet she could have sworn she saw a gray, skeletal face open its mouth in an unvoiced howl as it was slowly torn apart into shreds of shadow.

Glass gas lamps quietly flickered into life, their jets burning modestly low. Sabrina gently collapsed to the floor afterwards, ears roaring and heart pounding. It took her quite a few minutes before she could push herself up. Silently, she made her way to the door, limbs shaking slightly. Salem padded by her feet, both ignoring the elderly, grandfatherly ghost now seated on the rocking chair, cup of tea in hand.

Sabrina slammed the door behind her, and slid down to the floor. Salem blinked, watching her closed, quiet face.

"I didn't know you could do that," he offered, hoping to cheer her up.

"Do what?" she muttered, rubbing her temple.

"Back flips. That was neat."

She shrugged. "All those years of gymnastics paid off." Sabrina grabbed the other side of her head. "Let's keep moving. Even though that death spirit's gone, I'm still getting a **really** bad vibe from this room."

"How about something a little more relaxing?" Leota cautiously offered. "The Sitting Room's not too far away."

Sabrina's eyes closed. "That would be great. Let's go."

_Something very wrong happened here once. I can't tell what it is; I can just sense the intensity and sheer **horror** of it._

She rubbed the back of her neck as they walked down the hallway. "I really hate this aura-reading sometimes."

* * *

Wow. Enough action for you guys? This was the room that scared me the most in the entire game. It's not only uber-dark and scary, but there is absolutely **NO** warning when the chase begins. Plus, the glowing door's creepy.

The track team reference comes from the Sabrina, the Teenage Witch movie with Melissa Joan Hart, as mentioned in an earlier chapter. And the gymnastics reference comes from the ABC movie, "Sabrina Goes to Rome." She ends up in the 16th century, fighting against an evil nobleman's horde of bodyguards. Our girl uses some really cool gymnastics stunts (she **does** do a back flip), as well as some swordplay and some magic, to bring them down.

The Blue Ripper is the creature shown in the third chapter, and in Sab's vision in the Pantry. It's a Death Spirit. Their name is a pun on their resemblance to the Grim Reaper, and their scythes. (Get it? "Ripper," "Reaper?" Ripper like in ripping things? Ha, I kill myself with these puns!)

Next Chapter: Floating things are rather common in the Haunted Mansion, as Sabrina comes to find out. So is getting drunk, apparently…


	21. Don't Look Twice

Sabrina's skirts rustled as she stormed down the hallway, uncaring of whatever may attempt to assault her. Alas, the resident monsters of the Upstairs Hallway had not yet learned of the Spirit Detective's recurrent depressive/aggressive mood swings, and to emphatically leave her **alone** whilst she was feeling such. As an unfortunate result, three Armors, two banshees, a skeleton, and countless spiders met their demise in five minutes.

"You think they would know to keep away when she's in a bad mood," Salem blinked as he rode in the backpack.

"Hun, they're Netherworld demons. They aren't noted for their mental capacity." Leota sighed.

"True," Salem admitted.

The Sitting Room was in the section of the Hallway that was papered in a lacy pattern of dark purple. The rug beneath their feet was of assorted brown hues, with rich cream showing through in the design.

Sabrina sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I really hope this room is an easy one. Really, I do." She wrapped her hand around the knob and tugged, feeling fire wash over her.

_I don't know why, but I like fire so much now…_

The door opened onto a bare, white-cement passageway. The end of the passageway was to her right, where a small, brown rectangular plaque was mounted on the wall. To her left, the passageway continued on for a few more feet before opening into a large room.

"Cute layout," Sabrina remarked, surveying the cold austerity of the passage.

"It gets better," Leota muttered sulkily.

Indeed, it did. The stark white passageway led to a large, well-proportioned room with a parquet floor. Sabrina admired the square design of the floor pattern. Ahead, and to the left and right, near the wall, were large columns with fireplaces built in the bottom. Groupings of chairs and sofas were carefully arranged around these, and potted plants, bookshelves and end tables were interspersed throughout.

Sabrina stepped forward, admiring it. Handmade Oriental carpets in demure blues and grays lay haphazardly on the floor, with small, round end tables placed here and there. Old photographs and paintings of seascapes adorned the walls.

In spite of the fact that the lights were turned off, rain could be seen trickling down the window in one rounded corner, and that Netherworld demons could be lurking anywhere, the room was very cozy. _You could have a great party in here,_ Sabrina thought with a grin. _Just think; a cool night, fires blazing, and you and your friends sitting on couches with drinks in hand talking about the latest book you read, or concert you saw. It's cozy here._

Leota stopped for a moment, stiffening. "Did you hear that?"

The detective's eyes narrowed. "Hear **what**?"

"That noise," the psychic whispered. Next to her, the cat began whimpering.

Sabrina frowned, and closed her eyes. Chill, eerie quiet filled the room. "Nothing."

"You're using your **physical** hearing. Try using your powers. Extend your mind."

Feeling incredibly silly, Sabrina closed her eyes again. _Extend my mind? How do I do that?_ She began to imagine her mind as like a pool of water, slowly spreading outwards. "Not working."

"ESP is a lot like radar," Leota pointed out. "Try thinking of that."

Her mind was like a pool of water, expanding. Her mind was like sonar, sweeping around the room and the mansion in larger and larger circles. Her mind was expanding outwards, sending out power to touch upon whatever was in its path.

_A scream?_

Somewhere, far, Sabrina had hit upon a faint, shrill scream. She stood, rooted to the spot, as a faint chorus of screaming wailed in the background, dying and growing, like a macabre melody.

"Someone's screaming," Sabrina whispered.

Leota gave her a weary smile, very faintly glad for the girl's spiritual perception. "They've been screaming in every room, dear."

_In every room…creaking floorboards and faint breathing and pounding rain and lightning and a chorus of screaming, all under my hearing…_

"Why can I sense it now?" she asked, voice quivering slightly.

"It's gotten louder in the past few rooms. I figured it was worth teaching you to use your ESP."

Salem snorted. "Sabrina doesn't have ESP." He paused, turning to look at the teenage witch. "Does she?"

"I…I don't know."

Leota's mouth quirked. "I would say you do. If you can use basic spiritual perception, there's a pretty good chance you can learn some other tricks."

Sabrina stepped away from them slightly, eyes traveling crazily around the room. A small bar was tucked in the corner of the room; that would account for the cocktail glasses carelessly left on various end tables.

"There was a party here," she announced flatly. _Traces of energy imprinted on the couches—fairly recent in terms of the other energy prints. Glasses left around—no one cleaned up. Charcoal in the braziers—a fire that was never banked and cleaned up._

Leota watched her carefully.

"So…where's the switch?" Salem asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

"It **should** have been on the right of the door when you came in," Leota explained laconically.

Sabrina shot a glance backwards. "Well, it's not."

"That's a minor problem," Salem quipped.

Leota raised an eyebrow. "Compared to what?"

"The banshees behind you."

Sabrina furiously drew power from the Beacon before showering the two banshees that had glided behind them in a tandem attack.

She stood, glaring at the dissipating wisps of smoke that once been the ghouls. "I want to leave."

Leota blinked. "Of course you do, honey; it's not like we're expecting you to become a resident, or…"

Sabrina clenched her fist and strained to keep tears from flowing down her cheeks. "I **hate** this place. There's so much death and violence and hatred here, that it's almost ingrained." Her eyes pressed together tightly. "So much screaming and blood…"

Salem quickly bounded over to her, trying to climb up her boots. The Spirit Detective knelt down and pressed him to her chest, hot tears dropping on the feline's face. The cat's rough tongue darted out and began licking the salty drops off her cheeks, and nuzzling her neck in a soothing manner.

Leota sat, helpless, as the Spirit Detective cried out of frustration and fear. _Damn this spirit link…I can't do __**anything**__…_

Slowly, the tears stopped and Sabrina stood up. "Okay, what to do?" she murmured, her sapphire blue eyes tinged with red.

"Try there," Salem nudged to her left.

Floating in midair was a familiar skull-handled light switch.

Sabrina blinked. "I'm seeing a pattern here…"

"Well…no one said the challenges had to be **original**," Leota pointed out.

Salem's eyebrow quirked. "Quite."

"Okay then, c'mere," Sabrina extended her free hand to the light switch. The switch floated backwards, out of her grip. "Anyone else getting deja vú right now?"

"Yeah. So go after it!" Salem urged, bouncing up and down slightly.

Sabrina gave him a slight glare, and began following the light switch. Bored, weary, and **really** tired of floating objects, Sabrina listlessly walked behind the switch, looping around the room in nonsensical patterns.

"Aren't you **forgetting** something?" Leota pouted from her spot on the rug near the door.

"Just wait a minute," Sabrina called, as she stepped around an armchair.

"Fine. I'll just wait right here."

"You do that."

Sabrina stopped in the middle of the room, and glared at the light switch. "You know, this is really **stupid**," she barked at it. "I have been wandering around this stupid mansion all **night**, **NOT** of my own volition, been attacked by monsters, chased by ghosts, fought a psychopathic warlock with **no** fashion sense…"

Salem mock-gasped in horror.

"…nearly been killed repeatedly, and forced to solve these **STUPID** puzzles. And it's a **school** night! This is hindering my academic performance, which I need to keep at a premium, since I have to get into a good college, to get a good job, and **THIS IS NOT HELPING**!"

The light switch fluttered for a moment.

Sabrina leveled a murderous glare at it.

The light switch slowly began to flutter backwards, toward the door, as if seeking to escape from the Spirit Detective. (Not that anyone could blame it at this point in time.)

Sabrina slowly began stalking towards it, determination written on her features.

With a burst of speed, the switch flew backwards, plastering itself to the brown plaque on the wall.

Sabrina, Salem, and Leota stopped and blinked.

"That was easy enough," Leota stated.

"Wow, Sabs!" Salem grinned. "You've sure got some attitude."

Sabrina growled at him before flipping the switch on. Simultaneously, sparks combusted into crackling fires in each fireplace. The flickering light cast a warm glow onto the room.

While Salem happily leapt onto a sofa, curling up and relaxing, Sabrina pulled Leota into the backpack and began walking around the room, examining everything. _It may be dusty and dirty, but I might run into some clues here…_

She stopped at an end table, adorned with a lace doily, vase with dead, dried flowers, and a wine glass. The liquid had long since dried and left a faint residue inside the glass. Carefully, Sabrina picked it up, and probed the energy traces left on the glass.

_**She was in this room, but she was not alone. People milled around, chatting, sitting at the bar and drinking, or reading aloud from the newspaper. It was a party—maybe THE party. The last party ever held in this room…**_

_**Colors swirled around her, painting the world in oranges, reds, and browns. Her eyes swiveled around, crazily, picking up small details. A woman leaned heavily against the bar, determinedly knocking back yet another cocktail. The man next to her slumped back in his seat, dead to the world. At least one couple was making out in a secluded corner of the room, whilst a crowd had gathered in another. They were grouped around a familiar dark-haired man, and triumphantly holding up a newspaper…**_

Sabrina jerked back from the wineglass, her head spinning. _Wow. Now it feels like __**I'm**__ on a world-class bender. Ouch._

"What did you see?" Leota asked, the crystal ball pulsing faint and warm against the teenage witch's back.

"A—a party," Sabrina began, trying to piece everything together. "A fairly wild one, for the nineteenth century. A man was over in the corner…I think it was Edward…and there was something…something connected to a newspaper."

As she put the glass back onto the doily, she scooped up the Death Certificate scrap that had served as the drink's coaster."Time to find that newspaper," she mumbled, putting the piece of parchment in her backpack.

The table that Edward had been standing next to was on the other side of the room. There were quite a lot of broken, dropped glasses on the floor that she hadn't noticed before.

On the table was a brittle piece of newspaper, yellowed with age. She scooped it up in her hand.

"It looks like some sort of announcement," she murmured, trying to brush the dust off.

"_Edward Gracey and Elizabeth Hollingsworth proudly announce their engagement. The groom is the son of George and Mary (Boufont) Gracey, and is the heir to the prestigious Gracey Shipping and Trade, Ltd. He has completed four years of study at Harvard College. The bride is the daughter of Marcus and Julia (Gore) Hollingsworth. She has completed her studies at Davis Select Seminary for Women. The groom is from the Graceys of New Orleans, while the bride is of the Hollingsworths of Baton Rouge. The wedding is set for October 31st of this year."_

Sabrina checked for a date at the top of the paper. "It says 1879…" she murmured. _That date seems significant…but why? Am I forgetting something? _

Salem nudged her ankles. "What's so special about the paper?"

She held it up before slipping it into the manila folder in her backpack, praying it wouldn't crumble. "It's Edward and Elizabeth's engagement announcement from the newspaper."

Salem blinked. "So?"

The Spirit Detective rolled her eyes. "You are unbelievable sometimes, you know that?"

The cat puffed his chest out with pride.

Sabrina shook her head for a moment, and began to walk around the room as if lost in thought. The cat sat, still slightly confused. "Wait, was it important?" he asked, confused.

"Just forget it," Sabrina called from across the room. Leota faintly chuckled.

Salem shrugged.

"Check this out, though," she began as she walked back toward the cat. "It's the last piece of the Death Certificate!"

She carefully assembled all three pieces, showing it to him. An elderly woman sat in a rocking chair, in the background of the picture. A ball of yarn, a pair of knitting needles, and a half-knitted something-or-other lay on her lap. She held a cup of tea and a saucer in her hands. A table lay in the foreground, with the tea service laid out…and a bottle labeled "Rat Poison" hidden from the old woman's sight, next to the teapot.

Sabrina's eyebrow twitched. "Rat poison in the tea? Who'd have thought?"

Salem licked his whiskers. "Yum."

Leota's face softened slightly. "That lady is Elma Belle Gracey; she's one of Edward's great-aunts. She married Ambrose's younger brother Richard."

"She looks like a nice old lady," Sabrina remarked, smiling. "Like the kind of grandma everyone wants." _Like the kind of grandmother I never got. One's dead, and the other's too busy jetting around the universe to stop in for a visit._

"She was like a grandmother to everyone," Leota agreed. "We all called her Grandma Bootsie."

Salem and Sabrina stared at each other, then Leota.

"It was just a pet name," Leota muttered.

Sabrina stood up, shaking her head slightly. "Don't try to explain the logic behind it; I don't want to know." She rubbed the back of her neck as she surveyed the room. _All right, they've got a bar!_

"Whoo-hoo! Drinks on me!" she cheered, running over.

Standing next to the bar were two ghosts: one male and one female, wearing what appeared to be casual clothing…during the 1870s. The woman was trying to read the titles of the bottles on the rack behind her, in an effort to decide what to get drunk on next. The man was slumped on a stool, nursing a phantom glass of whiskey.

Sabrina stopped in her tracks as she watched them. Every so often, the man hiccupped and nearly fell off the stool. The woman, either oblivious to her drinking partner, or too drunk too care, leaned against the bar.

"Um…hello?" Sabrina asked, wondering if she'd get a response.

The man hiccupped again. Sabrina walked closer, and he turned to face her. Well, her general direction. Those bloodshot ghostly eyeballs couldn't focus on **anything**. "Ya know," he slurred, "they said…they said, 'Son, ya gotta drink yer life away.' And I said…"

"Said what?" Sabrina asked, curious in spite of herself.

The ghost hiccupped, and returned to his glass.

"Oh, yeah, let's talk to the **drunk** ghosts," Salem scoffed. "We'll get a lucid response from them. They must know what's going on any better than the other nut jobs we've met so far."

Sabrina glared at him.

The woman behind the counter had apparently chosen something to drink, as her phantom wineglass was now full. She took a sip, before toasting the man seated at the counter. "Ya know what, Rolly?" she slurred. She took another sip, before wobbling slightly to the right. "This party would be **dead** without us." The woman began giggling, wobbling behind the counter before sinking to the floor.

"And let that be a lesson to you!" Salem announced. "If you get drunk again, and get killed, you'll end up like them."

Sabrina blinked a moment, before scooping up the cat and dashing out of the room.

* * *

The last Death Certificate has been completed! Hooray! And trust me, the last ghost is the nuttiest of them all…

It made sense to me, at least, to have Sabrina have a sixth sense, or augmented spiritual senses. She's supernatural herself, so she **should** be able to recognize other supernatural activity.

And yes, there **are** a lot of puzzles involving floating objects in the game: the floating candles in the Dining Room, the floating plates in the Kitchen, the floating wheel in the Sun Room, and here, the floating light switch. Apparently, the designers lost their minds whilst working on this, and reused what was once a good idea a few too **many** times…The actual puzzle in the room is to chase the light switch around the room, and chase it into the hallway leading into the room, so it flies onto the wall. Sabrina, however, intimidated the poor little switch into obedience…

Another little thing that makes the game so darn **scary** the first time you play it (in the dark, with no other noises around, for added fear factor), is that there **is** very faint screaming in the background, along with the creepy music.

My apologies for the engagement announcement—I've never seen an actual Victorian-era or pre-Victorian-era wedding engagement announcement, so I had to B.S. my way through it. Elizabeth's father's name and the name of her school are a tribute to HM Imagineer Marc Davis. Elizabeth's mother's name is a tribute to both Julie Svendsen (a portrait artist for HM's cousin, Phantom Manor) and an earlier storyline for the HM involving a sea captain named Gore.

"Rolly" is a reference to Rolly Crump, an Imagineer who worked on the HM.

Next chapter: You are cordially invited to high tea in Gracey Manor's Parlor. Some select guests will be Miss Sabrina Spellman, Master Salem Saberhagen, our dear Madame Leota, and Master Atticus Thorne. Please **do** watch out for flying walls and poisoned teacups! Kindly RSVP to our own beloved Grandma Bootsie. We're just **dying** to have you!


	22. The Sinister Omen

"Why are the ghosts here all so **weird**?" Sabrina complained, walking down the hall and carrying Salem.

"I **told** you; we get **all** types here. Especially the oddballs," Leota reminded her.

"Why am I not surprised?" Salem muttered. "There is something inherently **disturbing** about this place."

Sabrina's eyes flitted over the darkened hallway. "Tell me about it," she muttered softly.

Sensing the quiet, and Sabrina's slightly melancholy mood, Leota intervened. "You'll be happy to know that there aren't many rooms left!" she chirped.

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. "Really. How many have we been in?"

"Twenty, give or take."

Sabrina felt like smacking herself. "We've been here **that** long?"

"Time flies when you're hunting demons," Salem drawled.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. "And the next room would be…?"

"The second-to-last room on the second floor is the Parlor," Leota informed her.

Sabrina and Salem's eyes bulged. "You mean there's a **third** floor?" Sabrina yelped.

"Yes. Just relax—there aren't many rooms up there."

"No." The Spirit Detective stood in the middle of the hallway, refusing to move. "I will not move from this spot until you tell me exactly what remains for us to do. I have been working my **butt** off tonight, and I deserve to know what I'm getting into."

"Maybe," Salem suggested sarcastically, "you should have said that to Drell before he shoved us through that warpgate."

"I was in shock, okay?" Sabrina snapped. "Leota, if you please…?" she prompted.

The psychic sighed. "Like I said, there's two more rooms left on this floor, and those are the Parlor, and the Portrait Gallery. The third floor is accessible from here; it's the staircase at the very end of this hallway. There are only two rooms on the third floor: the Attic and the Observatory. And after that…" she trailed off, pondering. "I don't know."

"So, you don't know what will happen once we fix those four rooms?" Sabrina asked, incredulously. _This is Madame Leota, our guide through this crazy mixed-up haunted mansion, who doesn't know how to solve the big problem._

"Typical," Salem remarked.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, **'TYPICAL**'?" Leota shrieked. "I'VE GOTTEN YOU THIS FAR, HAVEN'T I?"

"Yes, you have," Sabrina soothed, "and Salem's just jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Salem, if you don't want to spend the remainder of this trip as a pineapple, I suggest you apologize to Leota." The cat glowered at her. "**Now**."

"Fine." The cat turned away and mumbled something.

"Excuse me?" Leota batted her eyelashes. "I don't believe I heard that."

Salem mumbled again, but slightly louder. Sabrina glared.

"I'm sorry, Leota," Salem repeated, looking annoyed and, oddly for Salem, faintly ashamed.

Leota smirked, a smug look etched onto her face as Sabrina picked the cat up. "Okay, so where is the Parlor?"

En route, Salem refused to ride in the backpack with Leota or let Sabrina carry him; instead, he trotted by Sabrina's side, mad at **both** women.

_Dumb cat_, Sabrina thought with a trace of bitterness, _he can't just do whatever he pleases anymore. Every action we make, every word we say, affects the people around us. He's got to learn that, or we're going to be in big trouble…_

They stopped at the correct door, and the Spirit Detective began to deconstruct the barrier. She shot the cat a sidelong glance as he sat by her feet, aloof in expression of his annoyance.

_And he may have to learn it sooner rather than later…_

The barrier collapsed, and the small group entered the Parlor. Sabrina gave a low whistle at the sheer size of the room. For being a mere "parlor," the room merited half the size of the spacious Ballroom. _What on Earth did they need all that space for?_ she wondered, as she walked to the center of the room.

The Parlor was a beautiful concoction of cream and gold. Cream-colored couches and armchairs were arranged in conversational groupings. The largest sofa, in the middle, was accompanied by a kidney-shaped, marble-topped coffee table. On top of the table was a small gas lamp, set on top of a lace doily, a small metal birdcage placed to its left. A red velvet-bound photograph album lay beside it.

Salem mewled hungrily, and dashed forward to investigate the cage.

Sabrina continued to look around. The wallpaper was white with gold scrollwork that glowed through the dust. Cabinets were strewn throughout the room, their glass windows displaying all manners of interesting things to look at. The cabinet nearest her boasted a silver tea set, and a large piece of fragile-looking coral.

"It's so pretty," Sabrina marveled, as she stooped to look at the cream-and-tan colored Oriental rugs covering the floor.

Leota smiled. "It's Elizabeth's work," she murmured. "The room hadn't been updated since the 1840s, and the walls were a dark brown color, with few pictures, and **very** stiff chairs. It was a exceptionally…boring room to be in."

Sabrina turned her head, admiring the landscapes hung on the walls. "Elizabeth had good taste."

"She did," Leota murmured, more softly than before.

"There's no bird!" Salem wailed from the marble table.

Sabrina laughed. "Of course not. It would have starved to death by now." She moved over to where he sat on his haunches. "See, there's no…"

She trailed off at the sudden sight of the cage. The latch was loose—as if someone had opened it, and never closed it properly. _Something's not right here…_ The teenage witch carefully reached over, and knocked the cage door open. Moving to face it, she peered inside.

Huddled in the bottom of the cage was the twisted, crushed skeleton of a bird.

_It's…twisted… How…what happened to it?_

Sabrina touched the cage itself, and concentrated. "Show me," she whispered.

_**The young woman stood at the other end of the room, terror beginning to dawn across her face. She looked like a frightened child, too young to be wearing a wedding gown. Her dark brown eyes were bulging and terrified as she stared at the one in the center of the room.**_

"_**I'll not ask you again, child," the cold voice purred. "Where is the Beacon? I must have it…"**_

_**She backed against the wall, shaking her head wildly, dark curls falling out of place.**_

"_**Tell me now, and I may spare you."**_

_**The woman clenched her fists, even as tears began to threaten to fall. "You'll NEVER find it! It belongs to Edward!"**_

"_**Foolish child. The Beacon calls to me. No mortal can handle its power. Not even your beloved Edward."**_

_**A soft chirping noise filled the air.**_

_**The woman made a choking noise as the dark one lazily opened the birdcage next to him, wrapping long, pale fingers around the small bird inside.**_

"_**A final warning, child. If you do not tell me now…"**_

_**A crunching noise filled the air.**_

_**The dark one held up the twisted, crushed corpse of the songbird. "Edward Gracey shall soon resemble this." **_

Sabrina jerked away from the birdcage, gripping her hand like it had been scalded. _I know that woman, and I know that voice… But would Elizabeth have told Thorne where the Beacon is hidden? No…no, I don't think so…her loyalty to Edward was too strong…so what happened?_

She backed away, moistening her suddenly dry lips. _Think, Sabrina, __**think**__. There's got to be a plausible explanation…_

"Hun?" Leota called softly. "Shouldn't we be working on finding the light switch?"

Sabrina blinked. "Oh…uh, yeah!" She laughed nervously. _I keep forgetting that they can't see what I can…_

The blonde stopped, staring at the walls. "Is it just me, or does that staircase lead to nowhere?"

Salem leapt off the coffee table to stand by her feet. "Yup, that's definitely weird." A staircase had been built along the wall across from them, yet the staircase led…

"There's no landing. There's no place to connect it to." Leota blinked. "Rest assured, it was **not** like this back when I was alive."

"I think that statement could apply to the entire **house**," Sabrina muttered, moving closer. The Detective, however, failed to notice the small, oval rug she was about to walk on. In the next five seconds, her foot landed squarely in its center.

The wall facing the rug was immediately yanked out of place, and pulled backwards. Sabrina stared, openmouthed, as the wall twisted around in the inky blackness beyond, and reattached itself to the wall with a very solid-sounding _**slam**_.

Leota and Sabrina continued to stare at the newly reversed wall.

Salem blinked. "Cool."

"Oh my God," Sabrina muttered. "What made it do that?" She stepped backward, surveying the wall with a sense of horror.

"How come our walls at home don't flip?" Salem whined. "You could have instant redecoration."

"Something had to have triggered it," Leota reasoned. "What did you do?"

"N-nothing!" Sabrina blurted. "I just stepped forward…" She did so, to demonstrate, and stepped on the small carpet again.

Once more, the wall was jerked out of its place, flipped around, and pulled back.

The girl, cat, and ghost looked down at the carpet Sabrina's foot was resting on. "I'll hazard a guess that the carpet has something to do with it," Leota drawled.

Salem darted to the right-hand-side wall. "There's a carpet here, too!" he called, and quite obviously stepped on it. That wall pulled away and flipped, to reveal a fireplace.

As Sabrina walked over to investigate the fireplace, Salem began to trot around the room, looking for more of the 'special rugs.' The Spirit Detective reached out a tentative hand, running her fingers over the intricate molding. Her fingers smoothed the dust away, running over the smooth wood.

She admired the tarnished candlesticks that adorned the mantle, set on either side of a massive golden clock under a glass bell jar. The blonde checked the time. _It's stopped at 10:31. I wonder what time it is now…_

She quickly looked up to see Salem playing with the rugs. She narrowed her eyes. _He's flipping the ones right next to the wall with the staircase…_ Her eyes bulged as he flipped one that revealed itself to have a landing.

"STOP!" she shouted, dashing over.

"Ehh?" the cat blinked. She then pointed to the staircase. It matched perfectly with the landing.

The landing appeared to consist of nothing more than an entrance to a door, and access to the light switch. Sabrina ran over to the staircase, and began climbing.

"What's the door?" she asked curiously, as they neared.

"It leads to a guest room. Very comfortable, though, so I've heard."

As she got close enough, Sabrina tried the knob. "Leota, it's locked."

"Well, that makes sense. Only the servants or guests would have a key. And seeing as everyone's dead by now…"

"There's nobody to ask for a key," Sabrina finished gloomily.

"Plus, that's not one of the places we're looking."

Sabrina pouted, but went to the right of the door and flipped the pulsing switch. As a fire sprang to life in the hearth, Sabrina slowly descended the steps. "You know, Leota," she said, slowly realizing something, "we didn't see any ghosts in this room."

Leota's mouth formed a round 'o' of surprise. "Which could very well mean…"

Before the psychic was able to finish her sentence, the flames in the fireplace collapsed upon itself, the very embers slowly fading and hardening.

Sabrina licked her lips, as a thrumming filled her head. _Cold… _She involuntarily shivered, rubbing her arms. Her heart began pounding painfully against her ribcage. _Where is he? I know he's here. Don't tell me he's going for a theatrical entrance…_

A small ball of fire erupted from the carpet below the fireplace. The waves of fire peeled away to reveal Atticus Thorne, his arms folded and a smirk drawn across his face.

His smirk deepened, twisting the toadlike face into an even uglier mask of supercilious disdain. He shook his head, bog-green eyes never leaving the Spirit Detective. "Tsk, tsk, Sabrina," he chided in a patronizing tone.

"You are **quite** the headstrong little chit, aren't you? One could even say to the point of recklessness."

Sabrina's lip curled up as her eyes narrowed to slits.

"After all, you gallantly came to the rescue of the few pathetic shades here, declaring your intent to be their knight in shining armor. Completely ignoring your utter lack of expertise and power, of course. And off you trotted, with your," his gaze lingering scornfully on Salem for a moment, " 'noble steed,' and…'wise guardian'."

Leota clenched her teeth while Salem began to swell and hiss.

He tilted his head up, assuming a theatrical air. "And now, you have nearly reached the deepest dungeons of the enchanted castle, where you will combat the wicked wizard—which would be myself, of course."

His eyes rolled down from where he had struck a mock-theatrical pose. "This begs the question, of course, of what your course of action will be."

"Easy," Sabrina hissed, swinging the Beacon into a more comfortable position. "**Shutting you up.**"

Thorne gave another mock-sigh, bringing his hands together. "Utterly headstrong, foolish, quixotic, and useless." He rolled his eyes. "**What** is the Witches' Council coming to?"

"To **this**!" Sabrina screamed, rushing towards him. She launched a quick volley of Charge Shots, before jumping onto the couch.

"Don't get your feet on the couch!" Leota shrieked.

"Who are you, my aunt?" Sabrina snapped, as Thorne teleported away. _Sneaky bastard…_

"Behind you!" Salem bellowed, diving under the couch.

Sabrina whipped around, firing Power Shots as she did so. While Thorne was able to duck some, he couldn't escape the full onslaught. Snarling, he teleported again.

While she figured that she couldn't expect a fair battle against the ancient warlock, Sabrina soon found that Thorne was a fairly bad battle strategist. In fact, he had one fatal flaw: he was repetitious. For, not only is variety the spice of life, but it also prevents your opponents from figuring out what you will attack with, and where. Keeping this in mind, she found that firing her newly-upgraded Power Shots at thirty-degree angles worked **miracles** on the dark warlock.

"Hah!" she shouted, flinging a smartly placed Power Shot at him.

Thorne stepped back, choking slightly, as the bolt of energy connected with the tender flesh below his shoulder. Gripping the wounded area, he flung a barrier of fire around himself, teleporting away.

"Foolish child… don't think that we are done here."

She stood, panting, in the middle of Parlor, waiting for him to teleport back again.

"I think he's gone," Salem ventured.

As if to corroborate the cat's statement, the fire sprang back to life, crackling merrily. Leota sighed. "Thank God in Heaven that's done." She shot the Spirit Detective an annoyed look. "I'll have you know that you're not allowed to put your feet on the sofa."

Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Well, then I-"

"Hello, dear!"

The girl, cat, and psychic stared at each other. "Did you…" Sabrina whispered, her voice dropping away. The three then quickly turned around.

Sitting on the couch behind them, demurely holding a cup of tea, was the ghost of an old woman. _I'm willing to bet that's Grandma, herself._

The elderly woman beamed at them from her seat. She could have been anyone's grandmother, clad in a long, floral dress and knitted shawl. Her hair was pulled behind into a soft bun, and a pair of spectacles were perched low on her nose.

"Grandma Bootsie!" Leota declared. "It's wonderful to see you again!"

"Who's that?" Grandma blinked, leaning forward. "Why, if it isn't little Leota! Hello, dearie!"

Leota flushed slightly. "Hello," she managed. Salem snickered faintly.

Grandma took a sip from her cup, and then turned to Sabrina. "I just wanted to thank you so much, dear, for ridding this room of that nasty, nasty man." She shuddered, before swirling the contents of her cup. "I should think he must have been a horrid child."

Sabrina grinned. "I guess so."

"So, as a thank-you gift, I—oh goodness me, I can't believe I was so thoughtless. Would you like a cup of tea, dear?"

Sabrina glanced at the tea set on the coffee table. The teacup, as well as the teapot Grandma Bootsie was gesturing to, was as insubstantial as the grandmother herself. "No, thanks."

"Are you sure?" Grandma inquired solicitously. "It's **very** good for you."

"I'm sure." Sabrina nervously rubbed the back of her neck. _There's something I'm forgetting about this lady…_

"Well, anywho," the grandmother continued, "I'd like to give you a little thank-you gift…now where did I put it?"

Sabrina used the time while the elderly woman searched for the present to pull out the Death Certificate. "I actually have something for you, myself," she stated.

"Eh? Speak up, dearie, I'm a little deaf."

"I have something for you," Sabrina repeated, louder.

"Hmm? Oh…oh, my goodness…my Death Certificate! Wherever did you find it, dear?" Not waiting for her answer (or expecting it, either), she reached out and gingerly took it. Grandma Bootsie blinked at the picture.

"Oh, goodness…rat poison? Who would have thought?" She chuckled merrily. "That'll teach me to put in the cream without wearing my glasses."

Sabrina's eyebrow twitched. _Yup. Suuuure taught her a lesson, didn't it?_

"Er…oh, now what was I saying before? My thoughts just come and go now, you know." She chuckled merrily, before assuming a thoughtful expression. The elderly woman then snapped her fingers.

"Yes, of course! That's it! That pretty jewel for you, dear—that's what it was!" Beaming, she stretched her hand out and gestured. With a rush of red sparkles, the Soul Gem materialized. The gem was red, a brilliant scarlet hue that twinkled deeper crimson and even an off orange shade as the light danced off its facets.

"Is this…?" Sabrina trailed off, looking at Leota.

The psychic gave her a warm smile. "The final Soul Gem. Congratulations, hon. You've assembled all the pieces of an ancient weapon."

Sabrina looked at the Beacon carefully. The Beacon was a tarnished, slightly dented lantern that had once been a golden color. Slots had been created around the base for the Soul Gems that powered it. Once wedged in all the way, only the flat top of the gem could be seen, looking like a piece of stained glass adorning the lantern.

_It never fails to amaze me how this dingy old lantern can destroy evil spirits. It doesn't even look sturdy enough for camping, let alone combat._

Grandma Bootsie, however, was still chattering on. "So nice for you dearie, so nice…now, are you sure you don't want to have a seat and a cup of tea?"

_Rat poison! Argh!_

"No, thank you, we **really** must be going," Sabrina replied in a firmer tone.

"Well, if you're **sure**," the elderly woman said, doubtfully.

"DENY. HER. TEA," Salem hissed.

"Yes. Quite. But thank you, anyway."

"Well, then be sure to stop on by later and see Grandma later, dearies!" Elma Belle Gracey, known informally as Grandma Bootsie, merrily waved goodbye to the small group, and leaned back in her chair, sipping from her poisoned cup of tea.

Sabrina sighed as the group headed toward the door. "If **that's** what growing old entails, I'm not sure I want to."

"What—battiness or love of tea?" Salem blinked.

"Both."

* * *

Okay guys, here's where I need to make one thing clear: these last few chapters of "Tribute" (not including the Epilogue, though) are going to get much darker. There will be more horror and more blood than there have been before.

Why?

Because Gracey Manor's bloody past is soon to be revealed.

These last few chapters won't horribly over-the-top violent or gory, but I felt that everyone should have fair warning.

Yes, Thorne has become much more than a pompous nuisance; this man really **is** evil. [For YYH fans, he's a lot like Toguro Ani—you **know** someone's evil when they start killing little birdies.]

As for why's she's "Grandma Bootsie," that's very simple. That's one of my own grandmothers. Except she likes quilting more than tea…

Next chapter: In the mood for art, the group heads for the Portrait Gallery. Besides a lesson in art, they learn a little more about the Gracey family members…and attempt to solve the portraits' secret…


	23. A Picture Perfect Mystery

Sabrina stretched as the small group exited the Parlor. "One room left, right?"

"Yes, it's to the right," Leota nodded, surprised that the girl had figured out where the room was.

"No, no, I meant, there's one room left, isn't there?"

"Well, yes, there's a room to our left, but that's the Trophy Room."

"That isn't what I meant," Sabrina gritted, willing herself not to throw Leota's crystal ball down the hallway like a bowling ball. "Is there one final room to be fixed on this floor?"

"Yes." Leota blinked.

"That's what I wanted to know **in the first place**!" Sabrina howled.

"Then why didn't you say so?" Leota sighed. "Instead, we wasted time talking."

Sabrina briefly considered bashing herself in the head with the Beacon, but dismissed it as too destructive to her weapon.

"To the right, then!" Leota happily declared. "Full speed ahead to the Portrait Gallery!"

"Good!" Salem said with unusual enthusiasm…well, unusual for **him**. "I'm in the mood for art, anyway."

_That's it,_ Sabrina decided grimly. _Thorne was right. We're all losing our minds. First Leota, then Salem…okay, maybe he lost his a __**while**__ ago, but never mind… I'm next. I wonder what insanity's like. I hope you get cookies._

It was a slightly calmer Sabrina who deconstructed the barrier on the Gallery door a few minutes later, and stepped inside.

"Oooh…" Salem murmured. "Nice…"

The Portrait Gallery was a tall, almost circular chamber. Walkways had been added to the walls, to give it four stories, all connected by a central ladder. The room was more or less devoid of furniture, excepting a few chairs and easels pushed alongside the wall nearest to the door. True to its name, the Portrait Gallery's only feature was the numerous paintings it housed.

"No switch," Sabrina grumbled after a cursory once-over. "No energy trace, either."

"Let's just look around," Salem suggested. "Absorb some culture."

Sabrina rolled her eyes. She craned her neck, examining the myriad of paintings surrounding her, covering the walls nearly to the ceiling. "So many…" she murmured. "Wait. There are copies here."

Leota made a shrugging gesture. "This is the family gallery. Copies of paintings were distributed throughout the house, as well."

"So…if this is the 'family' gallery…then there must be paintings of the Graceys here," Sabrina decided logically. "Can you tell me about them?" she gestured to the nearest wall.

Leota smiled. "Head for the painting straight across from this door." Sabrina briefly wondered what the first painting would be.

"**This**," Leota said proudly as they approached, "is Ambrose Gracey."

Sabrina studied the painting critically. This man was the head of the Gracey family, and the most prestigious, it seemed. He could not have been a more striking contrast to his grandson.

He was thin and aristocratic, with a refined air, similar to his grandson. But the resemblance, Sabrina noted, stopped there. Ambrose had auburn hair neatly shaped to his head, and cool, distant azure eyes gazing genteelly out of focus. His face was thin and well formed, with a vague, dreamy expression.

Ambrose lacked the brooding energy and forcefulness of his dark grandson, yet there was a soothing relaxation that she liked in the man's countenance.

"So this is the famous grandfather," she murmured, careful to refrain from judgment. _It's odd…when I think of the Ambrose Gracey who joined a secret society of witches, hid a magic artifact, and defied a cult of death-worshippers…I think of someone a little more heroic-looking. I guess you really __**can't**__ trust appearances…_

"Moving on," Leota chirped. "Can't spend all day before one portrait."

The Spirit Detective sighed, and moved on. Sabrina stared at the portrait of the young woman before her. "Wow," she murmured. "She's **gorgeous**."

"That's April Gracey," said Leota shortly, as if the portrait brought up unpleasant memories. "She was Ambrose's daughter and George's sister."

April had clearly been a beauty in her youth. Curling black locks were pulled into an ornate bun. Her eyes were very large and dark purple, framed by thick, dark lashes. Her nose was slender and Grecian; her skin smooth and white; her chin very delicately pointed; and her lips full and beautifully formed. The young woman was clad in a pink dress, with a lace mantle draped over her shoulders, and a black ribbon with a cameo fastened around her throat. It looked like she was seated at a writing desk, although her hands clasped a pair of pale yellow gloves, not a quill or paper.

"Yowza!" Salem shook himself. "She must have been quite the prize."

"And knew it," Leota replied, a little bitterly. "April was the biggest flirt this side of the Mississippi. Her beaux were planters, and sons of planters, and there seemed to be no limit to them. It was her favorite tale to recount the Sunday afternoon when she received seventeen gentlemen callers, and entertained them **all** on the Mansion porch."

"Wow. Like Scarlett O'Hara," Salem commented.

"So what happened to her?" Sabrina asked curiously. _Despite my better judgment, these Graceys are interesting._

"She eventually became Mrs. Duncan J. Fitzhugh, and the mistress of an one-hundred-and-eighty-acre plantation." Leota grinned suddenly, as if remembering something pleasant. "She also eventually became an absolute hag by the time she was fifty. Edward was fond of her, but used to call her "Aunt December" when he was upset with her."

Salem chuckled at the joke, but Sabrina shook her head. "Pretty," she noted as she stopped to examine the next picture.

"I think I see a resemblance among the Gracey women—they're all really hot," Salem purred.

Leota made a face at him briefly before turning to examine the portrait with the others. She smiled. "I'd like you to meet Mary Abigail Boufont Gracey—Edward's mother."

Mary Gracey was a slender woman, clad in a pink-and-white gown with puffed sleeves, and carrying a matching sunshade. She stood in a small clearing, ringed by trees, with flowers almost everywhere. She smiled shyly for the painter, a gentle smile curving her pink lips. Her head was dipped slightly to one side, as if ducking her head out of shyness. Mary's reddish-brown hair was pulled back into a bun, with a few girlish curls framing her neck. She had large, clear turquoise eyes, and the reddest cheeks Sabrina had ever seen. Mary was the very picture of youth, vitality, and beauty.

"Mary's father painted this," Leota confided. "Mr. Boufont was actually an esteemed painter, and family portraits were his specialty. Apparently, Master George—that's Edward's father—went to him to see about having some family portraits done, when he saw this very picture of Mary. He fell immediately in love, even though he'd never seen her. And the rest…is history." Leota sighed. Despite her practical nature, the psychic **did** have a soft spot.

The painting next to Mary Gracey's was apparently that of her husband, George. Sabrina quietly appraised the picture, comparing it to that of Ambrose's and Edward's. It seemed none of the Gracey men were much like each other. George was dark like Edward, with glossy black hair, and a French-looking mustache. He sat in a chair before a picture window, clad in a brown suit. Like Mary, he, too, had an air of healthy liveliness. Sabrina had a feeling that George would rather have been strolling along the walkway pictured through the window than sitting next to it to be painted.

She remembered seeing pictures of George in the Game Room and the Trophy Room—holding up the prize catch, or displaying a trophy. The George in this picture, though, had all his hair, unlike the newer pictures showing his older, balding self.

So. Ambrose was the dreamy, wispy ship captain; George was the hearty, bluff outdoorsman; Edward was the Gothic scholar.

_I'm guessing that while the Gracey women all have beauty in common, the Gracey men have, more or less, nothing in common._

Sabrina shrugged, and walked to the next picture. The teenage witch gasped in delight at the portrait before her. "Emily!" she cried.

Leota smiled and nodded, before gazing at the picture of beauty.

Here, Emily was a girl of sixteen: young, fresh, and exquisitely lovely. Flaxen curls waved luxuriously around a delicate, heart-shaped face. Liquid cerulean eyes shyly gazed at her audience under a fringe of thick, dark lashes. Her skin was like that of rose petals and cream, and Sabrina enviously wished to have a delicate nose like hers. Emily was clad in the same sapphire taffeta gown that she had worn in the Toy Room, a cameo choker around her throat.

"She was so **young**," Leota whispered hopelessly. "It doesn't seem right, somehow."

Salem stared at the picture of the young girl. **Hope** shone in every aspect of her face. And to have that stripped away in the blossom of her youth…Why did it seem doubly horrible, somehow?

…_because she looks like Sabrina._

It snapped into his mind like a burst of glorious light; a strange epiphany. The girls did share the same coloring, but with subtle differences. Sabrina was paler than Emily, without the blush in her cheeks; her hair was straight and thick, not curly, and her eyes shone like jewels, instead of gleaming like a rippling pool. It wasn't just their coloring that was similar, though. The two girls had such promise…such life in their eyes…and it was all the warlock-turned-cat could do to pray that Sabrina would not be so cruelly stripped of her life as Emily had.

The picture next to Emily was of a boy who resembled a miniature George, sans the mustache. Leota explained that the boy was Daniel Gracey, who **should** have been the Gracey heir, but died at age fourteen.

A painting of Edward hung next to Daniel, so Sabrina was able to compare the two brothers. The two had much in common—dark coloring, thick brows, and the same jaw line—but Daniel seemed more delicate than Edward, somehow.

His skin was paler, softer-looking. For being a boy, he had remarkably thick eyelashes, Sabrina noted. Both Daniel and Emily had inherited their mother's striking blue eyes; although this added to Emily's fair coloring, it made Daniel's face look all the more remarkable. Both brothers were dressed in navy suits, although the styles differed greatly—at least by ten years or so.

"He looks so serious," Sabrina smiled, gesturing at Daniel. "He and Edward both."

"He was that kind of little boy," Leota murmured. "Daniel was very responsible and serious…it was part of what made Master George convinced that Daniel was better suited for the job as Gracey heir."

"What do you mean?" Sabrina asked, confused. "I thought that being born first guaranteed his position as the heir."

Leota shook her head. "I'm talking about **after** Daniel died." Her face grew more somber. "You must remember, Edward was a young child when Emily and Daniel died. Daniel had been groomed for his entire life for the position of taking over the family business. In essence, they had to 'start from scratch' with Edward. He was studious, and the family approved of that, but they felt he spent too much time studying and traveling and collecting rare things to take his position seriously." She paused for a moment, clearing her throat.

"Don't get me wrong; George Gracey loved all of his children, and Edward was no exception. But they began to argue over meaningless things, and one day, George started bellowing that Daniel would have made twice the heir Edward was." Leota paused. "I don't know if Edward ever forgave him, but he became more involved with work than he ever had been. At least, until he met Elizabeth…"

"Awww," Sabrina cooed. "How sweet."

"Next picture," grumbled Salem, who wasn't as fond of love stories as Sabrina.

The next painting dwarfed the others by being twice, no, thrice the size of a normal portrait. From the colors and the frame, Sabrina could tell it was the most recent.

"It's that ghost girl," Salem gasped. "The one with the cardiac problems."

Sabrina decided to forget the feline's less-than-polite comments as she studied the painting of Elizabeth.

"Edward had it painted as soon as the dress was obtained," Leota explained. "It was a wedding present of sorts."

Sabrina wondered how appropriate it was, since Elizabeth would have known what her present was beforehand. She studied the formal bridal portrait carefully.

Elizabeth stood proudly, one hand resting on the back of a plush chair set before her. The other hand cradled a bouquet of roses. Her stomach thudded sickeningly as the Detective realized that they were the same shade as her blood-red heart. Nausea swept over her briefly before she steadied herself.

_Don't think about it, don't think about it…_

The ivory silk and lace gown was the same as Sabrina had seen it last; the veil, however, had been pulled back over her head and trailed down her back. The dark curls were swept up into a bun, yet a few renegade strands wisped around her forehead. The bride's face radiated love and warmth, her eyes glowing with contentment. The cherry lips curved slightly in a smile, hiding a lover's secret.

"It's horrible," Sabrina murmured. "She was so happy. They were going to be married. They **loved** each other! And now they're both dead…"

Leota silently gazed at the picture, emotion flickering in her navy eyes.

Sabrina silently turned away, eyes catching upon one final picture on that level. "Is this…who I think it is?" Sabrina blinked slowly.

"It…could be…" Salem pondered.

Leota flushed slightly.

The picture before them was of a young woman, obviously painted a long time ago. Thick, wavy dark brown tresses spilled over her shoulders. Her olive-skinned face was very heart-shaped, like most of the women's portraits Sabrina had seen. Full crimson lips formed a slight pout as midnight-blue eyes looked up at the viewer sensuously through thick, dark lashes. So much hair cascaded around her that the viewer could barely discern her dark red blouse.

"Leota?" the teenage witch gaped.

Still blushing, the psychic nodded. The two living members stared at the portrait some more, uncharacteristically quiet.

Salem let out a low whistle. "Wow. You were pretty hot back in the day."

Sabrina grinned. "And fairly aware of it, from the expression on your face."

"Give me a break," Leota muttered, "that was over 140 years ago."

"But I thought only family members got their pictures put here," Salem continued. "Unless you're Gracey's second cousin twice removed or whatever, why did they put you in here?"

"I was a family friend," Leota reminded him. "I got my portrait painted as a gift."

Sabrina grinned. "Lucky you." She stepped back, examining the paintings on the levels above. "Are **all** these of family members?"

"Some. Not all," Leota noted noncommittally. "Take a look around. I have a feeling that the paintings are the key to finding the light switch."

On the second level, Sabrina found paintings of other family members; "Thurl" Gracey and his wife and son were grouped together. She examined the faces—stern, thin-faced Lucretia Gracey, the sheep-like face of Algie Gracey, and, of course, Thurl himself.

"He looks like Walt Disney." Sabrina blinked. "Weird."

She then passed a grouping of paintings that looked vaguely mythological—an Egyptian princess lying upon a divan and a beautiful Grecian maiden being prominent against them.

There were other rows of family pictures, some of landscapes, and some from history or mythology. The rows began to blur together in Sabrina's head.

She wearily climbed down the ladder and sat on the bottom step. "I don't get it," she moaned. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Don't ask me," Salem muttered, "I'm just the cat." He curled up on the floor, staring in the direction opposite the black-robed girl.

His ears immediately pricked up. "Sabrina…" he hissed.

She pulled her head up. "Eh?"

"You're going to want to look at this."

The Spirit Detective slowly turned around to find what Salem was staring at. She choked.

Ambrose Gracey's portrait was beginning to age.

The girl and cat stood fascinated, Leota giving muffled cries to see what was going on. She found herself taking a few steps closer as years slowly passed by in the painting. "Like _The Picture of Dorian Gray_," she breathed.

Ambrose's skin tightened and shriveled, the vivid blue of his eyes fading. His gray suit slowly became tattered and worn. Sabrina choked again, feeling a light wave of nausea sweep over her.

There was a sudden flash of lightning, and a heart-attack-inducing clap of thunder. In the brilliant flare of light, Ambrose Gracey's portrait had withered into a bug-eyed skeleton. Sabrina gripped her torso tightly, feeling bile begin to rise in her throat.

_Oh God, oh God…_

She turned, fleeing for the stairs. Her feet scrambled against the metal steps uselessly, before pulling herself up.

_**Please** don't let this be happening…_

Salem was yowling behind her, and Leota uttering small cries of terror. Paying no heed, Sabrina frantically pulled herself onto the second level. "God…oh, God…" she panted, praying that this was safer.

With the next brilliant thunderclap, the beautiful Grecian maiden became a stone-faced Medusa, snaky hair writhing and twisting. The Egyptian princess transformed into Bast herself, a cat-goddess, with burning amber eyes and a heavy jeweled collar.

Sabrina began running, trying to somehow escape the burning eyes of the portraits following her.

A cutter ship on a placid sea became embroiled in a roaring maelstrom. The knight seated on a magnificent black stallion in the painting next to it became a skeleton astride a horse of decaying muscle and gristle, clasping a rusted sword.

Faces twisted, eyes glared, mouths leered. It was as if the very paintings had come to life.

"STOP IT!" Sabrina screamed, frantically shooting Charge Shots at the faces closest to her.

The Charge Shots smacked into the nearby painting of the skeletal knight. Sabrina stared, her mouth open in a little round 'o' of surprise. The jolts of energy slowly flowed throughout the painting, reversing it to the previous image.

"That was easy," Salem remarked.

Sabrina looked from the painting to the Beacon and back, a devious look slowly stretching across her face. With a whoop, she sprinted off, firing blasts of Soul Energy at the paintings.

"I will **never** understand that girl," the cat muttered, slinking down the staircase.

Sabrina's cheers and yells resounded in the room, as she darted back and forth, curing the paintings. Leota's admonitions for her to calm down and act like a normal person could also be heard quite clearly.

Salem, in the meantime, sat ten feet or so away from the painting of Ambrose Gracey. The portrait still depicted a skeleton dressed in a tattered early 19th century morning suit. Salem shuddered slightly as he considered the fact that the skeleton's eyes seemed to be intact…and watching the black cat.

_Shouldn't they be rotted away, in that stage of decay? Ah, well. Moving on…_

Muttering about the disturbing qualities of portraits, the cat stretched, and began trotting around to look at the other portraits. He stopped, bewildered, taking in all of the Gracey family portraits.

Every member was depicted in a rather…disturbing…fashion.

April had shriveled into a craggy, sour-faced hag; her dress had faded and wrinkled. She scowled at her audience, unlike the demure smile of her younger, more beautiful, self.

George, in his portrait next to his sister, had slumped across his desk. A gaping wound gleamed wetly amidst his thinning hair. A shotgun lay against his leg, still smoking, the accoutrements of a gun cleaning kit spread across the desk. Curiously, a hatchet lay discarded on the floor; the shadows covered much of the detail, leaving the viewer unable to discern if it was covered in blood or not...

Mary stood under a dark, stormy sky; night had fallen, and rain was pounding the small clearing persistently. A cruel, jagged bolt of lightning streaked down from the heavens, headed for Mary's delicate pink-clad form. Yellow and red eyes gleamed from the dark bushes in the surrounding woods.

Emily and Daniel were death-pale, emaciated, and hollow-cheeked, with deep rings of purple around their eyes. Dressed in faded linen, both looked sickly and nearly dead. Emily's flaxen curls hung limply around her face; the blush in her cheeks and rose of her lips had wanly faded. Daniel's coal-black hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his startling blue eyes bloodshot.

Elizabeth's veil had been pulled over her face, of which nothing could be seen, save two glowing spots that could have been her eyes. Bony, decayed hands clutched a faded, dead bouquet of roses that had once been deep red. Her glowing heart could be seen under the snow-white fabric of the gown…that, over said heart, was torn, trails of blood oozing down from the gash.

Leota's portrait seemed to be more or less the same—yet her dark, sultry eyes seemed to burn with a strange, latent fire. Her abundant hair seemed to cover her torso, along with the blood liberally oozing from her neck…

Edward Gracey stared at the viewer with dark, haunted eyes, despair etched on every facet of his face.

Salem stared at the picture as Sabrina came thumping down the steps.

Edward had a rope tied around his neck.

"Hey, Salem, I…" Sabrina trailed off at the sight of the Gracey portraits. "Oh, my God." Her eyes widened, as she stepped closer to Elizabeth's portrait. Her hand reached out, hovering above the woman's chest wound, as if to see if the blood was real.

"How did this happen?" she whispered hoarsely. _What is all this? Oh, God, oh God…_

"Here," Leota explained quietly, "You can see how some of the Gracey family members died…or looked, upon their death."

Sabrina was making choking sounds, drawn to the morbid sight of the sickly Daniel and Emily. "This is horrible," she whispered.

"They died of scarlet fever," Leota said, barely above a whisper. "They just wasted away, getting sicker and sicker…"

Sabrina pressed her eyes shut, trying not to think of the delicate girl laying frail and ill on a deathbed. _Emily…_

She turned around and desperately began flinging Soul Energy at the portraits. _I want to make all this hurt and grief disappear…I want everything evil to be destroyed… _As the portraits reversed, Sabrina collapsed onto the ground, pulling her knees to her chest. _Why? Why is there so much hatred and evil here? Why did these people suffer? It isn't __**fair**__!_

Salem paused as Sabrina made snuffling sounds, as if she was holding back a deluge of tears.

"It's horrible," she murmured. "It's all so horrible…"

_We have to get her out of here,_ Salem realized. _The sooner, the better._

As Sabrina slowly pushed herself off the ground and began searching for the hidden spirits, the cat began to pad along.

_This place isn't healthy for her. She isn't safe here. It's starting to get to me,_ he reluctantly admitted in his thoughts, _but it's __**already**__ gotten to her. We need to go home._

The cat paused as he watched Sabrina slowly and feebly make her way to the door, slowly, a scrap of a Death Certificate clutched in her hand.

_We've got to get out of here. Before Sabrina loses her mind…_

* * *

For those of you who are familiar with the portraits in the Haunted Mansion, here's a brief summary of who's who:

Mary Gracey is the girl with a parasol in the Stretching Room. George Gracey is Melanie Ravenswood's beau in the Phantom Manor Stretching Room (the painting showing a picnic). Ambrose Gracey is the portrait of the Ghost Host in the lobby (the one that slowly decays). April Gracey is the changing portrait of the pretty girl into the old hag. Elizabeth's portrait is based on the formal bridal portrait of Melanie in Phantom Manor's Portrait Gallery.

The Gracey family tree is a little confusing, but here's the basics: the Gracey family is from England. Ambrose Gracey left for America to establish his own branch of the family there (so there were still Graceys living in England). Ambrose married and had several children: George, Theodore, and April. George married Mary Boufont (the sister of Madame Tangerine, remember?) and had Emily, Daniel, and Edward. George was the eldest son, so ownership of the Manor fell to him and his children. Theodore married Lucretia and had Algernon. Lots of other relatives tossed in the mix as well, but we unfortunately don't have the time to do a genealogy of the Gracey family. Alas.

That crazy little panic sequence is derived from Disneyland's Portrait Corridor, which is not included in the Disney World version. In the Disneyland version, guests walk down a corridor filled with paintings that "change" when a bolt of lightning flashes outside the window.

April is partially based on the character Amanda Wingfield from the Tennessee Williams play _The Glass Menagerie_.

Um…this is yet another room with a modified challenge. The game brought you into a huge room with levels of paintings that were all, more or less, "repeats" (multiple copies of paintings). They were all "changing paintings"; some were in their "cursed" state, and others were in their "cured" state. Basically, you went around activating the bad ones, usually jumping through the paintings. I thought it was pretty boring.

Next chapter: Sabrina **may** have been called a "space cadet" every now and then, but she never thought she'd **be** one! When a generator explodes, the gang finds themselves hurled into a tricky challenge…


	24. The Secret in the Stars

Sabrina nervously closed the Portrait gallery door behind her, hand trembling slightly as she did so. _I don't understand it. I was fine before! But…those faces…_

She nearly gagged as the death-portraits of the Gracey family resurfaced in her mind. Were they doomed to this? Had their family been cursed from the beginning? How else could suffering follow one family so closely? **Everyone** was caught in the snare of misery in this house; not even the innocent Gracey children had been spared.

_There are so **many** questions, and no answers in sight…_

Salem and Leota were unusually quiet, as if sensing her distress. The psychic softly directed her to return to the landing from which they had entered the Upstairs Hallway.

The blonde turned around, and began carefully weaving her way through the hallways; quickly, in case any more Netherworld demons decided to come looking for her. Her eyes flitted from side to side, watching for anything to leap out of doorways, or materialize through the walls.

_That's odd,_ Sabrina noted mentally. _Before, there were monsters leaping at us from all angles. And now…there are none to be found. Bizarre._

Her eyes widened as she passed by a demon trap. _Nothing's trying to get out._

"Something's wrong," Sabrina whispered.

"I'll say," Salem grumbled. "This entire house."

"No." Sabrina shook her head. "Haven't you noticed? I only did a little ago." She paused. "How strange…" she mused on her last statement.

"Noticed **what**?" Salem demanded. "The fact that we've almost figured out the secret behind this entire place? The fact that we're in over our heads? The fact that we could very well **die** here?"

"No. The monsters are gone."

"Oh." Salem blinked.

"She's right," Leota called, distressed. "I can't sense their energy."

"Neither can I." Sabrina 'pushed' with her mind, searching for any of the familiar monstrous auras that they'd encountered before. _Nothing._

"That's rather unlike Thorne," Leota mused. "He's the type to throw everything he's got at an opponent. Having his Netherworld servants roaming around was **his** advantage and **our** handicap."

"Now, the situation's reversed," Sabrina murmured.

"But **why**?" Salem demanded. "Is he **that** bad a tactical leader? Even when I was attempting to conquer the Mortal Realm, I **knew** how to direct **my** troops to the best advantage."

Sabrina paused, watching him for a moment. "I think that's a question we'd all like answered, Salem."

Leota snorted, in a most un-lady-like manner. "Whatever the answer is, we won't find it here. We have to keep going."

Sabrina nodded, and began her return to the landing that connected the floors of the mansion. She stood on the threshold of the staircase. Below her were stairs leading down to the Downstairs Hallway. Another set of stairs, on her left, led upwards…presumably to the third floor.

"All right, then," she murmured under he breath. "We're reaching the endgame, Thorne. Beware."

And she began to climb.

The flight was short enough, leading to a narrow, unbelievably short hallway. At both ends of the hallway was a round window, and there was one door on each side. The lushness that trademarked Gracey Manor was very nearly gone here.

Above her head, the boards sloped. A thin, worn carpet meagerly covered the floor, patches of wooden boards plainly showing through where the threads had worn away. No paintings adorned the wall, and there was not a stick of furniture throughout the hall. The grandeur and magic was gone from this paltry garret-like hallway.

"Which door?" Sabrina asked, to no one in particular.

Leota shrugged. "On your left is the Attic, and on your right is the Observatory. Take your pick."

Sabrina hated stupid decisions like this. Either one she picked; it didn't matter. Pointless—entirely so. Yet, the decision-making process hindered her momentarily. For some reason, she felt compelled to make a 'rational' choice in deciding which door to open. And so, Sabrina Spellman turned to the oldest decision-making tactic in the history of creation.

"Eeenie, meenie, mynie, moe; catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, let him go; eenie, meenie, mynie…MOE!" she finished triumphantly. Her finger pointed at the Observatory door.

Salem felt like falling over in surprise. _The quality of Other Realm employees sure has declined in the past century…_

Smiling, victorious, Sabrina hastily deconstructed the barrier, and yanked open the door, hopping inside. Salem barely had enough time to leap in, luckily managing to avoid getting his tail caught in the door.

The room was dark. But she'd expected that.

Sabrina stood, blinking, trying to adjust her eyes to the dramatically dimmed light of the Observatory. The room was absolutely bare of any type of furniture; it was constructed of cold stone, and reminded Sabrina of a castle tower. "It's almost straight out of _Harry Potter_," she grinned.

There were, of course, differences between the Gracey Manor Observatory, and the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Astronomy Tower. For one, planetary charts and star maps covered the walls. Some, of course, were outdated; she found one that didn't even list Pluto in the sky.

She stared at the central telescope: an enormous metal monstrosity reaching to the ceiling. It seemed that, among the jumble of metal that served as the base, a ramp or walkway of some sort curved along the structure, upwards. _I guess that's how you get to the top._

"So…how does this thing work?" the Spirit Detective pondered.

"There are three generators along the ramp," Leota quickly explained. "You need to turn on the first two to warm it up and open the current, but the third has the main power switch."

"Seems easy enough," Salem grunted, jumping onto a piece of metal from where he could leap to the backpack.

Sabrina tipped her head back, staring. _How big is this thing? Twenty feet? Thirty? I just hope it's stable…_

Carefully, the group began to climb the telescope's base. Every now and then, Sabrina would nervously look downward, as if to reassure herself that nothing was on the ground floor, waiting for them. Nothing was.

The room was eerily quiet.

The generators, she found, bore a strange resemblance to large hourglasses. It seemed too simple: flip the switch, and the glass began to glow a soft white. The gentle, low hum of the generators charging up was relaxing. She was almost lulled into a state of composure…almost. No matter how soothing the white noise from the generators was, it simply could not erase the deathly aura of Gracey Manor.

It seemed almost a lifetime ago, that these strange, burgeoning powers had awakened. A sixth sense was definitely unusual…although, secretly, kind of cool. She had, of course, earlier swallowed the urge to blurt, "I can see dead people, too!" when Salem had made reference to her new abilities.

Trace-energy perception…the ability to learn about objects and their surroundings by tapping into trace amounts of residual energy left upon said object.

This sixth sense, however, apparently could extend into many fields. Leota had, so far, taught her to use it to sense auras. But there were other gifts it could be used towards—psychokinesis, telepathy, astral projection—that she would have to try and see if she could accomplish. From what she'd heard, it was worth trying.

She paused a moment, her fingers brushing against cool metal. _I wonder if the lights will come on when I throw the main power switch? Well, there's only one way to find out…_

The Spirit Detective walked forward, quicker this time, searching for the final generator. It was firmly built into the side of the main telescope, the switch left in the "off" position. With a grin, Sabrina firmly grabbed the switch, and pulled it upwards.

The generator lights flickered on, pulsing a bright white, as a soft hum was emitted. Sabrina would have turned away, if the hum hadn't slowly increased to a piercing whine, and the lights begun to flash menacingly. The whine increased in frequency and pitch, until her head was throbbing, and her ears close to bleeding. The telescope's structure began trembling, the walkway buckling beneath her feet. With a shriek, Sabrina fell backwards, sliding back a few painful feet before she rolled sideways and grabbed on to a piece of railing.

Salem wailed and dug his claws into her dress; Leota was shouting something that Sabrina couldn't hear. She closed her eyes and clung to the railing tightly as the telescope began to squeak and sway dangerously.

The explosion was the last thing she heard.

Cold pricked at her spine. Shivering, Sabrina began to return to consciousness slowly and piecemeal.

_Where am I?_

Her eyes slowly opened, narrowed at first. Black. Black everywhere.

_I can't be dead…can I?_

She pushed her eyes open fully, and blinked. The vast, glittering brightness of space surrounded her. Rather like the ceiling of a planetarium, but closer. Milky whorls and clusters of stars were dotted throughout the entire view. She nearly stretched her head to look for the Milky Way, before she mentally smacked herself.

_I'm in OUTER SPACE!_

She felt like screaming for a moment, as panic swam through her veins. She gave a shuddering breath, and stopped, as she was not instantly frozen or vaporized.

"I'm guessing you forgot that witches can breathe in space?" Salem drawled unexpectedly from her left.

Sabrina's face flushed. "Shut up," she mumbled.

Leota's ball slowly rolled out of the backpack, coming to a rest by Sabrina's hand. She looked at the two, bewildered. "You're not dead," she gasped. "We-we're in **outer space**…and you…you haven't…"

"I'm not sure how much you know about witches, seeing as you used to be a human," Salem stated, eying her. "But one of the basic differences is internal body composition. Our lungs are structured to work in almost any kind of atmosphere. Our blood is chemically different. We use a different and larger section of our brain."

"That's why we can still breathe," Sabrina explained. "I'm just…not used to being knocked out, and waking up near the Cat's Eye Nebula."

"Isn't it **beautiful**?" Salem sighed. "We must be at the center of the universe…cats always are at the center of something important."

Resisting the urge to smack him, Sabrina pulled herself to a sitting position to view their surroundings.

Obviously, the generators had blown, and taken the telescope with it. Everything below them was shrouded in infinite, inky blackness, but shattered pieces of the telescope hovered all around them. Carefully, she psychically searched the area for…well…anything.

_Hmm? It's there…somewhere southeast and up._

Sabrina pushed herself off the ground. "Come on."

"Huh?" The psychic and the cat both turned to stare at her.

"There's something—an energy trace—over in that direction," she explained, pointing for good measure.

"Do you think it's the switch?" Salem ventured.

Sabrina shrugged. "At this point, I think I'm willing to settle for anything." She began walking towards the end of the dented sheet of steel she had previously been unconscious on. "I just wonder how we can get there."

Salem growled, and began tugging the backpack towards Leota's ball. She obligingly rolled inside, as he followed suit. "I'll retreat to relative safety while you figure this one out."

Sabrina made a face as she slipped the backpack on. "Thanks." Cautiously, she stood at the edge of the battered metal sheet. While the darkness of outer space stretched in all directions, the cloud of defeated machinery was spread over a one-hundred-yard area. The nearest piece was about three feet away.

_Pfft. An easy jump._

Pulling her backpack on tighter, she backed up a few feet, then executed a running jump onto the nearest piece.

What she certainly hadn't counted on was gravity.

She sailed through the air, much like jumping on the moon. _This is __**so**__ weird. _It almost felt like time had slowed down, and she was soaring through the air in slow motion.

And then she realized that she was going to overshoot her goal. As she began to descend, Sabrina twisted around, frantically grabbing at the sheet of metal behind her. She ended up pressing her torso against a piece that had been bent upwards, and wrapping her arms around it.

Once she'd prevented herself from falling into the void of space, the Spirit Detective clambered onto the smoother, flatter surface. Sitting on her haunches, she began to massage her forehead.

"Okay…so gravity works differently here. I guess that means I have to shorten my jumps," she mused.

Taking her own advice, she found that carefully shortening or lengthening her jumps almost always landed her exactly in the center of the piece of debris. _This is like the book puzzle in the Conservatory—except the stakes are much higher this time. _It was mindless—jumping from hunk of debris to hunk of debris. The only difficulty lay in the timing of pieces that were rotating.

_I feel like I'm stuck in a platformer game. And it's uninspiring._

"I feel nauseous from all this jumping," Salem volunteered.

"Please don't puke on Leota," Sabrina sighed.

"Because then, you'll owe her a new backpack," the psychic chimed in. "Not to mention having to clean my ball off."

Salem rolled his eyes. "Which, of course, I can easily accomplish, given my lack of opposable thumbs."

Sabrina nearly skidded off the edge of a battered generator. "Everybody, shut up and let me concentrate."

Salem growled, and retreated back into the backpack, wherein he proceeded to curl into a ball and whimper.

Rolling her eyes, Sabrina proceeded to continue jumping across the debris, towards the strange energy. She nearly fell off a rotating cylindrical barrel, feeling much like a lumberjack rolling a log along.

The pieces of metal became smaller, more of them rotating swiftly. It became, at least to the teenage witch, an absolute chore to jump from each to each. She nearly tripped twice, and banged her shin on a rotating steel beam.

It was a noticeably grumpier Sabrina who half-limped, half-jumped onto the platform where the energy trace had been coming from.

"Well, whaddya know. A light switch," Salem remarked sarcastically.

Sabrina mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, and yanked at the switch. The platform instantly began to shake again, as it had before the main generator exploded (and landed them in this whole mess to begin with!).

"Not **again**!" Leota groaned.

"This is getting really old," Sabrina snarled, as she searched for something to hang on to.

"Mommy!" Salem wailed.

And then everything was falling.

Both dark clouds and bright points of light flashed by her eyes as she was falling, head first. She couldn't open her mouth to scream, she was falling too fast.

_Am I going to die? …Well, if everything so far hasn't, then maybe…_

With a brilliant flash of light, she smacked onto something hard and cold. "Oww," she mumbled, rubbing her rear. _At least I'm not dead…I think. You can never tell around here…_

"We're alive!" Salem cried, clawing his way out of the bag. "Rejoice!" Leota shot him an annoyed look. "Whoops…" the cat chuckled nervously. _Shoot. Forgot she's dead._

Sabrina turned around. Behind her, the telescope was re-assembling itself, the generators whirring and humming, gentle white light beaming and lighting the room. "Well, at least that's fixed."

She pried herself off the floor to incredulously watch the telescope put itself back in pieces. Meanwhile, Salem had found something of interest.

A piece of paper had fluttered down from the ceiling, landing on his nose. The parchment caused his little kitty nose to twitch, ending up in a massive sneeze that sent the paper flying. After he pounced upon it, Salem caught the paper in his teeth, and carried it back to the backpack. It took some nosing, but he was able to find the other pieces.

_Jigsaw puzzles are hard to arrange when you have to pick the pieces up with your mouth._

This statement was entirely true; the fragments of the Death Certificate were torn very much like a jigsaw puzzle, and arranging them was difficult for the hand-impaired cat.

But, at last, it was assembled in a fashion that made sense, more or less, and he proudly sat to await Sabrina's return.

"Good work, Salem!" she crowed, Beacon in hand.

Salem shot Leota a smug look. "See. I **am** useful."

"Sometimes."

"**WHAT?**"

As they began to bicker over who was the more useful of the two, Sabrina studied the picture.

A portly man, dressed in the stereotypical clothes of a pirate captain, was poised nervously at the edge of a wooden plank. Behind him, on the ship, stood a crowd of pirates, angrily waving cutlasses and pistols. One man held something looking like a treasure map, his mouth open in an angry scream.

"They made him walk the plank? Their own **captain**?" Sabrina stared incredulously at the picture.

"Red Roger," Leota began to explain, abruptly breaking off from her argument with Salem, "was one of the jolliest buccaneers to sail the seas three hundred years ago. He was, in fact, a good friend of Ambrose Gracey's."

Sabrina's jaw dropped. "Ambrose Gracey was a **pirate**?"

"No, no, he was a **friend** of a pirate," Leota explained wearily, as if used to the question. "Roger had been a friend of his in the shipping industry who found that being a pirate was…well…more profitable."

"So…why did his crew mutiny?"

Leota grinned. "He buried the treasure."

Sabrina blinked. "But I thought **all** pirates did that."

"It's a really amusing story, but you should probably hear it from Roger…"

Sabrina pushed herself off the floor. "That's what you say every time."

The psychic blinked. "Do I?"

The black-robed girl rubbed the back of her neck. "Never mind."

By now, the telescope had fully re-assembled itself, standing as tall and sturdy looking as it had before the explosion. The ghostly forms of a man and a woman stood at the base, clad in long, billowing dark robes, with golden circlets around their heads.

Sabrina walked closer, trying to identify their outfits. _It looks like something out of a history book on the ancient Celts._

She stopped before she could invade what she dubbed their 'personal space,' and studied them. The woman raised her head, and began murmuring in a throaty drawl, "I am Morgan, queen of the realm. It is right for all to submit to my power and beauty."

Sabrina nervously stepped back before she realized that Queen Morgan, like most of the souls in the mansion, was trapped in the reverie of her past. She could neither hear nor see the Spirit Detective.

"It is that power," Morgan continued, "which enabled me to slay that monstrous dragon."

"Yikes!" Salem yelped, backing away.

"But all thy power be for naught, Morgan," the man next to her sighed. "For we canno' even find our child. The princess," he murmured, "resides in another castle…far away…"

The king and queen returned to staring into the night sky, melancholy despair settling over them once more.

_I wonder how their souls came to be trapped here. It's obvious that they belong to medieval Scotland…_

"I wish I could help the ghosts here," Sabrina whispered quietly. "They all seem to be searching for something. Like them," she gestured to Morgan and her husband. "They're searching for their child. But it seems that they'll never find her. I wish I could help," she added, as they turned to leave the room.

"You can," Leota stated quietly. "Rid us of this curse. Then…and only then…will we ever be free…"

* * *

I know this chapter may have seemed a bit implausible, but I felt it was necessary as the last "normal" room in the game/story.

The Cat's Eye Nebula really does exist, although I don't know its placement in the galaxy. Sabrina and Salem actually get to visit said nebula in the Sabrina science handbook _Sabrina's Guide to the Universe_. Salem's of the firm belief that it **must** be at the center of the universe…for reasons he stated above.

Next chapter: The final revelation of Gracey Manor's bloody past awaits in the Attic, along with other shocking secrets…and Sabrina must prepare for the fight of her life…


	25. The Fortune Teller's Secret

The Observatory door slammed shut behind her. Sabrina leaned against the door for a moment, staring ahead of her. One last room. One final room to purge of Thorne's darkness.

_And then what? What happens after that?_

She didn't want to admit it, but she didn't have the answers. Neither did Leota. Uncertainty was familiar to Sabrina Spellman, but an unwanted presence every time. But she could neither ignore nor hide from the fact that she didn't know what to do.

And she hated feeling helpless. There was so much in her life that she couldn't control: her parents' divorce, her own heritage…even these strange powers. For once in her life, she wanted to take the situation by the horns, and fulfill her own dreams.

But could she do that? Was she doomed to be a puppet of fate? **Could** she control her life, or would the circumstances that she couldn't control plunge her into a world of helplessness?

_One thing's for sure…standing here won't give me the answers I want._

And so, without any prodding from her companions, or desire to 'complete the job,' Sabrina stepped forward, and placed her hand upon the Attic door. A warm glow spiked her palm, as fire trickled down her hand in fluid rivulets. The final barrier had been deconstructed, and there was nothing holding her back.

Or was there?

She swung the door open.

The attic reminded her so much of the one at home. A sharp pang of homesickness stabbed at her heart, but she attempted to brush it aside.

Like all the other rooms in Gracey Manor, it was large, almost to the point of being ridiculously over-proportioned. The room was crowded with dusty knickknacks and forgotten antiques, most of them musical instruments.

Trunks and hatboxes were heaped around the room, on top of or next to broken pieces of furniture. Dusty paintings in elaborate gilt frames hung from crude nails hammered into the wooden walls or props.

Curious, like the cat of proverb, Sabrina stepped forward, to examine all the…well, **stuff**.

A chandelier hung from the ceiling in one corner, above a Chinese silk screen of pale pink and yellow. A wooden chest, with carved hearts and flowers, sat next to the screen. On top of the chest were a cracked bell jar and a globe. A dusty, fringed lampshade was abandoned at the foot of the screen.

Crates, broken chairs, small tables, and tarnished lamps with cracked glass shades occupied another section of the wall. She found a massive walnut dresser with a mirror to the back of the wall. Curiously, she opened the drawers. Nothing.

In a third corner was a beautiful old harpsichord, like the kind Aunt Hilda had owned a few hundred years ago. Picture frames and an easel surrounded it, like a protective cage. Sabrina stepped forward, running her hand lightly along the keys, not hard enough to press them down, yet firm enough to feel the yellowed ivory under her fingertips.

"Nifty," Salem remarked, after an uncharacteristically long silence. "But what are we looking for?"

"Mmmm, I don't know," Leota responded in an equally sarcastic tone. "I have a hunch, but I'm not sure…how about—THE LIGHT SWITCH!"

Sabrina rolled her eyes. _The two of them bicker like an old married couple._

She paused. Somewhere, faintly, sounded the beating of a heart.

_**Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub…**_

Something prickled at the back of her neck as Sabrina remembered just **where** she'd heard that before. _Oh, God. The Maids' Room…_

A chilly breeze quickly wafted through the room, stirring her black skirt and petticoats. Sabrina sharply pivoted, beribboned braids flying.

In the far corner of the room, next to the harpsichord, was Elizabeth.

The bride held a candelabrum in one hand, and a faded bouquet of roses in the other. She seemed to hover in mid-air, her voluminous skirt billowing in the supernatural breeze. But, most terrifying of all, was that her veil had been pulled back over her hair. Sabrina could see nothing of the kind, soft face—only shadows. The soft, dreamy brown eyes now glowed like red-hot coals, only second in intensity to her blood red, slowly beating heart…

_**Lub-dub…lub-dub…lub-dub…**_

The bride's gruesome appearance never fazed the Spirit Detective once, even for a moment. "Elizabeth!" she cried, and began running to the bride.

For a moment, the hand carrying the candelabrum trembled. Her head tilted up so she was looking the blond witch in the eyes.

A single, glowing tear dropped from her cheek.

"_Save us…"_

Just as Sabrina was within a hand's width from Elizabeth, the ghost faded away. Sabrina stopped short, staring morosely at the spot where the ghost-woman had stood. "Elizabeth…"

Her only answer was the now-fading sound of the beating of a broken heart.

_I want to save them. I want to save the ghosts here so **badly**! But what can I do?_

"Arr, miss, don't be put off by Miss Elizabeth, now. She comes and goes, surely she does."

Sabrina slowly turned around.

In the center of the room stood the ghost of a portly man, dressed in the stereotypical fashion of a pirate captain—buckled boots, coarse linen shirt, nautical-style jacket, and a plumed hat. He rather resembled the picture of King Henry VIII in her history book.

"Uh…and you would be…" Sabrina blurted, belatedly praying he didn't take her blunt statement as an insult.

The portly man chuckled, and swept her a small half-bow, doffing his wide-brimmed, magnificently plumed hat. "My name, lass, be Captain Roger Butler—but I be better known as Red Roger, terror of the Caribbean." The latter statement was made with the kind of fierce pride that only a pirate can take in a bloodthirsty—or in Roger's case, greedy—reputation.

_Wow. This guy would definitely fit in 'Pirates of the Caribbean.' But I don't think that Disney hires ghosts to work at their attractions…_

"Um, nice to meet you. I'm Sabrina, and this is Salem," she gestured at the cat lounging at her feet.

"A pleasure to meet ye, lass. And, o' course, the lovely Miss Leota."

Leota flushed slightly. "Roger, you scamp, you," she teased.

Red Roger chuckled, his belly bouncing slightly. "Now, I believe I may be of some use ta ya, am I right?"

"Yes…" Sabrina began. "I want to know the full story. Just **what** is going on?"

"I…er…"

"I have risked too much to be this far involved and not know what I've gotten myself into." Sabrina pulled Leota's ball out of her backpack, and set it on a nearby cushioned chair. "Tell me, Leota. You said everything had a time. The time is **now**."

_It's time for the truth to be known…time for my questions to be answered…_

Roger gestured towards a bookstand that Sabrina could have sworn was not there five minutes ago. "I've a feeling that you'll want ta read this, lass."

Sabrina paused, before stepping forward and recognizing the book. "The Tome of Shadows."

"It's the last volume," Leota said softly, her dark eyes falling sadly upon the teenage girl

Sabrina touched the cover, and the book flipped open.

_Tome of Shadows_

_Volume VI_

_Page 999_

_The fever has returned and claimed some of the laborers, but not before they completed their task. Recovery of the Beacon's Soul Gems is now imperative, as is gathering the final ingredients. The gems were scattered in an attempt to thwart me. My minions have still not been able to deliver them. Perhaps there is another way._

_A. Thorne_

_Grand Master_

_The Order of Shadows_

_September 21st, 1878 A.D._

"The final volume…" Sabrina echoed Leota's words. _All his hatred is poured out here…his never-ending pursuit of the Beacon…but for what?_

"What does it all **mean**?" she whispered.

Leota closed her eyes. "You want the truth…"

Sabrina knelt down to face Leota. "What happened here a hundred years ago?" The psychic's eyes were still closed. "Leota. Tell me."

"He came here…" Leota whispered.

"Who?" Sabrina prompted. "Pull yourself together. I'm sorry if I'm insensitive," she pressed on, "but you've got to tell us all you know."

Leota took a shuddering breath. "Edward and Elizabeth were going to be married on Halloween, 1879."

"Really?" Sabrina perked. "Cool."

Salem gave her a 'warning growl.' The teenage witch deflated. "Sorry."

"The mansion was packed," Leota continued, beginning to be swept up in the memories. "All of the extended family, friends, neighbors, servants... Everyone was there, preparing for the wedding…we should have seen it coming. I don't know why we didn't."

"Seen **what** coming?" Sabrina asked, fear slowly beginning to trickle down her spine.

Leota looked up in the girl's eyes. "Thorne."

_Thorne attacked the Mansion? But…but then…_

"He nursed a grudge for **seventeen** years," Leota whispered, in disbelief. "When **I** had nearly forgotten…when I had thought that all the precautions I took were a waste of time…"

"Like hiding the Soul Gems?" Sabrina asked, a piece of a previous conversation drifting back.

Leota nodded. "It was an attempt to forestall anything in the future that may have threatened the Beacon." She gave a derisive laugh. "It just turned out to be sooner than we expected."

"And Thorne…" Sabrina trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her next question.

Leota shook her head slowly, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. "Slaughtered them. None were spared."

"And that's how they all died," Sabrina whispered, her voice dropping away. "The ghosts here…they're all the people he killed…" The mental image of broken, bleeding bodies scattered throughout the hallways in the wake of the mad wizard flashed through Sabrina's mind. She shivered, although out of horror or rage, she could not say.

"Yes."

"Elizabeth…was…was she…?"

Leota closed her eyes, as if reliving a terrible nightmare—which for her, it was. "He killed anyone in his path. It was the Beacon he wanted. He found Elizabeth in the Parlor. Demanded the Beacon. She, of course, wouldn't give it to him."

Sabrina stared, nails digging into her palms.

"She ran. She…made it as far as the Maids' Room. Edward had discovered Thorne's presence by then." Leota was quiet for a moment.

"Elizabeth took the blow meant for Edward."

Sabrina's eyes shut, crystalline drops of water beading at the corners of her eyes.

"She bled to death in his arms. That wonderful heart…just stopped beating."

**"_D-death cannot subdue…my love. My heart beats for you, and you alone…"_**

Sabrina began to sob quietly. Salem softly padded over to her hunched form, and climbed onto her lap. A soft, rough pink tongue darted out and began to lap away the tears coursing down her face like the rivulets of fire.

Tears were also beginning to slowly stream down Leota's face. "She was the light of this house. And that **monster** killed her…"

Was it Salem's imagination, or did he hear the slow beating of a disembodied heart?

"But…" Leota struggled to compose herself. "He didn't get the Beacon. Thank the good Lord for that."

"Yes, Leota, but there was also a down side ter that," Roger pointed out, who had been quiet out of respect for the two women.

"What down side?" Salem asked

Leota's haunted eyes turned to Salem. "Everyone in the Mansion was dead," she whispered. "Every last one."

Something clicked together in Sabrina's mind. "Then you…"

Leota swiveled to briefly face Roger. "Of course, since Thorne couldn't find the Beacon, even after the estate had been murdered, he raised our souls from the Afterlife. The fool thought that we'd tell him in death what we would not in life. Needless to say, his assumption was breathtakingly misguided."

Sabrina frowned, her fingers tracing designs in the dust on the floor. "So that's why so many ghosts inhabit the Mansion?"

The Creole woman nodded. "Our souls are confined here, as I've told you before. We are prevented from ever moving on. We cannot attain either Heaven or Hell, since his dark magic has locked us within these grounds. There is no rest for us." She paused. "We're trapped."

Salem snorted. "Let me guess—Thorne's the only one who can lift the curse, and he doesn't want to."

"A right straight hit," nodded Roger.

"So, we have to kill him to break the curse?" Sabrina asked softly, her eyes not meeting anyone else's.

Leota paused. "Yes."

The girl shuddered for a moment, and then turned aside.

_Can I do this? Can I take a life?_ She looked down at her hands. _What makes killing a monster different than killing a person?_

_Is there a change of consciousness between species? Does it make the killing anything other than an act of murder?_

She held her hands up, and looked at them. Small, thin, with long, tapered fingers and broad palms.

Could she imagine them with blood upon them?

'_Here's the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.' _

Was Lady Macbeth right? Once you had been soiled with the sin of such a foul crime, was it ingrained in you forever? If she did this, would she be stained with sin for all eternity?

She did not know; the answers were too complex, too numerous to be counted or comprehended. But one fundamental question remained: could she take a life, even if it was Thorne's?

_If I had been asked what the hardest decision in my life so far was, this would be it. Atticus Thorne is a being of evil. He has no honor, no compassion, no moral strength. He has no soul at all. But, still, wouldn't killing him lower myself to his level? Would I lose my soul through this act?_

_If I killed him, would I become like him?_

She glanced at the psychic. _Leota and her friends have suffered so much. They lost their lives at the hands of this psychopathic monster. And, if he gains control of the Beacon, to do whatever it is that he's plotting, I have no doubt that innocent lives will be at stake._

_Is it worth it? Does the murder of an evil person justify the lives that could be saved? But what about me? Is murder a slippery slope?_

_Will I lose myself if I help them?_

She closed her eyes.

_There's nothing else I can do. I'm the only one who can help them. If I don't stop him, more people will be hurt. The residents of the mansion deserve their revenge. The countless others he's hurt deserve their revenge. Edward and Elizabeth must be avenged._

_And if it leads to my degradation…_

Sabrina Spellman jerked her head up, sapphire eyes blazing with determination and, for the first time, purpose. _Then I swear before God that I will be his__** last**__ victim._

"Leota…I'll do it."

The psychic looked up at the teenage girl. _I never realized before…how __**young**__ she is. _With the exception of her black, Gothic clothes and makeup, Sabrina bore a striking resemblance to Emily Gracey. Leota's eyes slumped closed. _She looks so much like her…if I lost this one, too, I could never bear it. But can she do it? __**Can she save us?**_

"That's the spirit, lass," Roger cheered. He stepped forward and touched her shoulder. "Maybe it won't count fer much comin' from old Red Roger, lass, but ye need ta do what ye feel is right. Follow what yer heart tells ye is the right thing ter do, an' ye won't have any regrets." He gestured towards the Beacon. "An' ye have all the power of the Beacon at yer disposal. Have some trust in it. It's meant to help ye accomplish great things."

Sabrina lowered her eyes to the Beacon and examined it as if seeing it for the first time. She hesitantly reached out to touch it. And, as if responding to her fear and worry, the Beacon responded. Raw power swirled under her fingertips, encircling her body and absorbing into her skin. A strange rush of energy hummed through her veins. Sabrina held up her free hand, marveling as her fingertips tingled from the energy mixing with her blood. _I can see why Thorne would want the Beacon so much... _

Her confidence bolstered, Sabrina turned triumphantly to Leota. "What's next?"

"Well, first, I think you have something to give to Roger," the psychic replied wryly.

The Spirit Detective flushed briefly, before quickly digging in her backpack. She triumphantly retrieved Red Roger's Death Certificate, and presented it to him with a flourish.

"I've got to ask, though," Salem said, a faint trace of sarcasm inflecting his tone, "how did **you** end up on the plank?"

"Arrr," Roger growled, "'twas me own crew that mutinied on me." He paused, anger and frustration twisting his features into a grimace. The pirate captain sighed deeply, shaking his head. "The knaves 'twere right sore that I buried the treasure we found."

Sabrina's eye twitched. _I thought __**all**__ pirates buried their treasure…_

"Even after they got half o' the loot!" he continued. "The ungrateful churls! Forty percent!" He paused, frowning. "Or were it **thirty** percent?"

Sabrina felt like smacking herself silly. _Then again, pirates weren't known for their math skills._

"Twenty percent?" Roger puzzled, trying to figure out just how much he'd **actually** given his crew. "Bah! No matter. What's done 'tis done, I say, and no changing it. Now, Here's a bit 'o treasure fer you, lass."

With that, he gestured towards a bureau that was almost directly across from the group. The cracked mirror gleamed in the unearthly light the Beacon threw upon it, and the knobs on the drawers rattled faintly.

Cautiously, Sabrina began to walk forward, expecting some ghost or spider to leap out at her in an instant. Her slender fingers brushed against the dusty wood, before yanking open the drawer.

Lying innocently in the center of the drawer was a small black box, only large enough to contain a small piece of jewelry. Sabrina looked up at Roger and Leota, who nodded, before she turned her attention back to the box. Her fingers wrapped around it, plucking it from its nest of dust.

Closing the drawer, she walked to the center of the room. Salem climbed onto her backpack, where he climbed onto her shoulder. Sabrina gently opened the velvet-covered box. Inside the box lay a ring. The design was similar to pieces of Celtic jewelry that she'd seen before; where a stone would normally be set, the metal curved in intricate loops, forming a beautiful twisting knot. At one end were the sleek head and flippers of a whale or dolphin; at another was its tail.

Removing the ring, Sabrina held it up to the faint light emitted from lamps scattered across the room. The metal seemed to glow a greenish color, with faint hints of blue. "It's beautiful, " she marveled, watching as the light gleamed off the metal.

"Aye, that 'tis," Roger agreed. "The Seafarer's Ring, 'tis called. It 'twere a gift from me to a sailor mate 'o mine, Ambrose Gracey. We may have pursued different…er…vocations, but the friendship were still there."

"So…why are you showing this to me?" Sabrina asked, curiously.

"Well…curse it all, Leota, you tell the lass."

"When Ambrose Gracey built Gracey Manor," Leota explained in a low voice, "he created dozens of niches and secret chambers to hide the Beacon in. He ended up created the ultimate hiding place, though. He built a room in the basements below the manor, calling it the Inner Sanctum. To get to the Sanctum, Master Ambrose built a secret passageway accessible only by a hidden panel."

"And this has **what** to do with the ring?" Sabrina asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"The panel is sealed with a magic barricade, courtesy of some of Master Ambrose's Brotherhood contacts," Leota explained. "They tied part of the spell to a token of friendship that Ambrose had treasured dearly."

"I see," Salem mused. "Because they share parts of the same magical application, the two objects are connected to each other. Using one of them on the other can cause the application to falter."

"Er…" Roger stared at the cat.

"The ring can break the magical seal on the door," Sabrina translated. She shot him a glare. "Stop being so technical. You confuse people."

Salem merely twitched his tail smugly.

Sabrina sighed, and turned to the two ghosts. "And where **is** this secret panel?"

"The Foyer," Roger responded promptly.

"The Foyer?" Sabrina blinked. "That means…"

"That weird switch!" Salem yelped.

Sabrina quickly recalled the strange portrait hung on the upper level of the Foyer, and the bone-handled switch set next to it. "But, if the secret panel really **is** in the upper level of the Foyer, why is there a switch next to it? I thought you said that the ring activates it…"

"It does, lass," Roger interrupted hastily. "After that scoundrel reached the Sanctum, he came to realize that the Beacon weren't there. So, he set up shop, ya might say, in the Sanctum, and put the blasted switch there, so only he could control who goes in or out."

"So, that's why it was there!" Leota gasped.

"But, I bet he doesn't know that we can get in," Sabrina grinned slyly.

"You never know," Leota shrugged. "He knows that the ring can open the barrier."

Sabrina bit her lip. "I guess it's safe to say that he's waiting for us, huh?"

"Quite likely," Salem drawled.

"Well, I'm **not** going to stand around." Sabrina lifted her chin defiantly. "I'm going to take that lowlife down, or die trying." She slipped the ring onto her index finger, put Salem on the ground, and picked up Leota.

"It's time to go," the teenage witch grinned, as she put both the cat and crystal ball in the backpack.

"…And, Roger?"

The portly ghost watched her, bemused.

"Thanks."

A smile spread across his broad face. "No problem 'atall, lass."

Smiling at him, Sabrina slowly walked out of the last room of Gracey Manor, and shut the door. She stood in the center of the hallway, staring out the circular window, but not quite seeing the storm outside.

_This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Will I be able to defeat Thorne? Or will I die?_

* * *

And now you have the full story. Many of the 999 haunts are members of the Gracey family, but also anyone who was massacred at the wedding.

As for the pirate captain's name… If you own a copy of the HM book by Jason Surrell, you know that originally, the Haunted Mansion was supposed to be owned by a pirate named Bloody Bart. Why isn't my pirate captain named Bloody Bart? Because I don't want him to be bloodthirsty. The Friendly Ghosts were NICE people (You could make an argument for the Duelist, but I don't really care about that right now). Therefore..."Roger" is wordplay on "Jolly Roger," the name of the pirate flag, and "Red" is because all pirates had nicknames, and he reminds me of King Henry XIII, who was a redhead.

The ring here is the ring referenced to in the Museum chapter. The name in the game is the "Seaman's Ring." I decided to change it for obvious reasons.

The characters in most shows that I've watched seem to have complex views towards the taking of a life. Yet, nowhere have I seen someone contemplating murder—for a good cause—and wondering if they will become evil themselves through that act. Does the murder of one wicked person who will undoubtedly harm others become a justified act? Does not murder, no matter for what reason it is enacted, degrade the person who carries it out, even if it is for a noble intention? Does killing someone to protect others sink you to a lower level? These are a few of the questions I considered while writing this story, and that I would like you to consider as well, as Sabrina prepares to engage in the final battle.

Next chapter: As Sabrina probes within herself for answers, she must also prepare for the final battle against Atticus Thorne, Grand Master of the Order of Shadows. As he drops some shocking bombshells, Sabrina must find the courage within herself to save Gracey Manor, the souls of her friends, and the world as she knows it. But will her sacrifice end in tragedy?


	26. End of the Game

"The only thing I don't get is, where are all the monsters?" Salem's tail twitched with the memory of poisonous spiders and skeletal ghosts.

Sabrina paused, chewing her lower lip. _Salem's got something there. The last few rooms we've been in have been free of any of the monsters we've faced before. What __**is**__ it? A fluke? Or…does Thorne have something more sinister in mind? I hate mind games…_

"There must be a more sinister explanation at hand…maybe one of Thorne's plots," Leota said darkly. "You can never tell what the filthy scoundrel is thinking."

Sabrina's eyes swept to each side of the Upstairs Hallway as the group cautiously, but quickly, made their way to the Foyer. Her nerves had been stretched to the near-breaking point as the small group had gone down the steps. Each creak of the aged boards had meant a subtle signal to the enemy.

"I wonder what he'll try to fight with," Sabrina pondered. "Do you think he'd use those fireballs he was conjuring in the Pantry?"

Leota shrugged. "Like I said, he's a hard one to predict. There's no telling **what** he may do."

"Oh, please," Salem disagreed. "Have you not **seen** the way he fights? Teleporting every which way and chucking either wussy fireworks or stupid bugs…that's no way to do it. Thorne's a pushover. Sabs can take him down, easy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Sabrina smirked. Inside, however, she felt nowhere near as sure. _I'm no action hero! All those fights before were simply to get him out of our hair, not to __**kill**__ him! What if Thorne was going easy on me before? It would certainly be credible, given his view of me… The lower-class being incapable of anything… _Sabrina's fists clenched. _I'll show him…I'll show everybody! Sabrina Joan Spellman is good for __**something**__! For once, I'll be able to prove myself…_

She paused before the staircase leading to the Downstairs Hallway. _But I'm still nervous as hell._

"Nervous?" Salem murmured.

She smiled weakly. "How could you tell?"

"You're trembling."

The Spirit Detective flexed her fists. "Maybe just a little."

Salem rubbed against her back, mewing softly.

Leota cleared her throat slightly. "W-we should really keep going…" she trailed off.

"Right."

Her hands still shaking, the blond witch descended the staircase, arriving shortly thereafter in the Downstairs Hallway. Her heart pounding painfully, she made her way down the hall.

The hallway **looked** the same as before… But with darting eyes and sharpened senses, the detective cautiously made her way down the moss-green carpet. As she hurried by, marble busts swiveled to watch her, frowns deepening.

_The Foyer door…just have to make it to the Foyer door…_

It felt like eyes were watching her…eyes everywhere…even in… "There are eyes in the wallpaper," she whispered.

Salem darted a glance at the bluish-purple paper. Strangely enough, the swirling black design seemed to form faces with glaring eyes and sharp-teethed mouths. Whimpering, he huddled at the bottom of the backpack.

Biting her lip, Sabrina made her way to the door. Carefully, she pushed it open.

The Foyer was quiet and somber; the demonic clock still ticked softly, the sound echoing off the paneled walls. Feeling a sense of relief wash over her, Sabrina shut the door behind her, and entered into the Foyer proper.

She sighed. "I love this room," Sabrina murmured, looking around. "It's so beautiful…so safe."

"What, and the Séance Room isn't?" Leota mock-pouted.

Sabrina tipped her head back and laughed. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed in this entire night. Her laughter abruptly died as she remembered just **why** they were in this room. She turned around, facing the second-story landing._ Is it my imagination, or is that switch up there pulsing? The aura coming from it feels so cold…so bleak…_

Reluctantly, Sabrina began to climb the staircase._ There should be a somber funeral march playing right now. Why is there never mood music in real life?_

The switch came closer and closer into view. _It feels like I'm marching off to my demise. It really does._

Too soon for Sabrina's liking, the switch was in front of her, and the small group was pondering it, and the painting next to it. She gasped quickly at the thrum of power running through the air here.

"How did I miss **this**?" she murmured. "It's so strong…"

"Maybe it's something you can only pick up with your sixth sense?" Salem suggested.

The teenage witch shrugged. "Maybe. Either way, the energy here **must** be the barrier spell. But where is the passage?" She mumbled this last question, half to herself. As she turned around, surveying the entire area, trying to pinpoint the source of the powerful aura, Salem was curiously examining the painting.

"The painting's of Thorne!" Salem blurted. "Check it out!"

Sabrina blinked and did a double-take. Indeed, the crotchety old man in the portrait was none other than the mad wizard…sans his deep violet robes, of course. His pale, lined visage scowled at the audience, the toadlike features stretched into a grimace. Cold, flat eyes—remarkably like their real-life counterparts—glared angrily.

"I wonder what poor schmuck was brave enough to paint that," Leota wryly remarked.

Sabrina shrugged. "Don't know; don't care. My question is, where is this hidden panel you've been blabbering on about?"

Leota sighed. "Hold the ring up to the portrait."

The Spirit Detective blinked for a moment, then shrugged, and extended her right hand towards the portrait. The Seafarer's Ring glowed a brilliant blue-green for an instant. Somehow, Sabrina could feel a slow ebb and pull pulsing through her body, like the ocean's waves. For an instant, the tang of salt filled her nostrils.

The sensations died as soon as they had come, and the glow along with it. Slowly, by degrees, the large portrait began to swing forward, a portion of the wall coming with it.

Sabrina and Salem stared, fascinated, as the panel finally came to a halt at a ninety-degree angle. Before them was a doorway.

"And it was right in front of the us the entire time!" Sabrina yelped. She smacked her hand to her forehead.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Salem growled, facing Leota.

"Because at the time, it wasn't a priority," Leota explained, trying to keep a grip on her fraying temper. "Besides, he added the switch after I died. I wasn't aware of the changes he'd made."

_Leota's never told us how she died,_ Sabrina realized. _I know that Thorne basically either blasted or hacked the other residents, and that he stabbed Elizabeth to death, but…how did she and Edward die? I wonder…_

Meanwhile, the cat and psychic were having a stare-down. Eager to avert a miniature crisis **before** she fought for her life, Sabrina swiftly picked the two of them up, and marched into the room.

_Here we go…_

As soon as they had fully entered the room, and walked into the center, the door slammed shut behind them.

"Hey!" Sabrina yelped, running over to where the door had been. She quickly (but carefully!) dropped Salem and Leota to the ground, as she began to pound on the wall. "Open up!" The detective examined the wall, but failed to even find the door's seams.

"Crap!" she shouted, frustrated, and slammed her fist against the wall.

_Okay, ow._

She drew back, cradling her throbbing fist, angered at both her enraged stupidity, and the door for locking them in. Snarling at the wall, Sabrina withdrew to the middle of the room, examining her surroundings.

The room the group currently inhabited was small and octagonal in shape. The walls stretched to perhaps fifteen feet in height, the lower half paneled in dark wood, and the upper half plastered with thinly striped wallpaper. Leering bronze gargoyles perched on a ledge at the top of the paneling circled the room, serving as candle sconces. Even more disturbing was that the candles they carried were **lit**.

It was infinitely **more** disturbing, she decided a moment later, that there was no door in the room. No way in, no way out.

_I've seen this before…but where?_

Before Sabrina's eyes flashed snatches of her dream: running down the Endless Hallway, the candelabrum, Elizabeth, the…

"_**Go now. Remember…you are the one who will open the door."**_

"The room from my dream!" Sabrina nearly shrieked. "This is the same room that Elizabeth showed me!"

"Wait…" Salem frowned, trying to remember. "You told us about this…"

"In the Mausoleum," Leota cut in. "And you said Elizabeth mentioned that you were 'the one,' as I recall?"

"Yes…" Sabrina trailed off, feeling slightly confused. "She said that I would open a door…"

"She must have meant the door into the Secret Room," Leota decided. "That's the most logical explanation."

"The Secret Room?" Sabrina asked, even more confused than before. "I thought you said that the room the Beacon used to be in was called the Inner Sanctum."

"Yes," the psychic explained, "but **this** room—the **passageway** to the Inner Sanctum—was called the Secret Room. Very few knew it existed; even fewer knew of its true purpose."

"Except for you, Liz, and Ed," Salem guessed.

"Yes," the psychic said for a second time, frowning at the impromptu nicknames the cat had assigned to her friends. "And Master George, as well, but he more or less handed the whole matter over to Edward near the end of his life."

Sabrina, however, was half-listening to Leota's explanations. Something didn't quite sound right. _I suppose that finding the ring and breaking the barrier was what Elizabeth meant, but…it—it just doesn't __**feel**__ like the right explanation. I wish I could have asked her what she was implying…_

"Hey, Sabs!" Salem called suddenly. "Check out the paintings!"

Sabrina slowly raised her head. Indeed, four paintings adorned the upper walls; the first was a copy of Mary Gracey's portrait from the Portrait Gallery, although she didn't recognize the others.

Leota quickly began to explain who the portraits' subjects had been in real life. The woman dressed in black and clutching a flower was Sally Boufont, Edward's maternal grandmother. Rumor had it that she and her son-in-law George Gracey had had a strained relationship.

The second portrait displayed a gruff-looking man with a thick brown mustache and beard, dressed in a formal suit. Apparently, this man had once been George Gracey's cousin and Elma Belle's son, Walter Gracey. He was named the ambassador to Burma, Leota stated proudly, although he'd sadly perished in a terrorist attack on the embassy.

The third portrait was of a calm-looking man with a brown bowler hat jammed onto a head of curly brown hair. "Eddy Foster," Leota said curtly, "the gardener."

Sabrina blinked at the harsh tones in the woman's voice. "Not quite fond of old Eddy, huh?" she remarked offhandedly.

"No, not really," the older woman replied, stiffly. "I'll confess that I'm not rather fond of flattering womanizers."

"Aww," Salem teased, "someone had a crush on Leota. How cuuuuute."

"Shut up," Leota hissed.

"Make me."

"Why, **you**…"

Sabrina tuned out of their conversation, as she looked around the room. _Okay, Sabrina, think. You're stuck in a room with no doors and no windows. Yet, there was a door letting you in ten minutes or so ago. The question is now, how are you going to get out?_

Unfortunately, her meditations were rudely interrupted by Salem and Leota's bickering. Whirling around, she glared at the pair. "Do you **mind**?" she snapped. "I'm trying to think of a way out of here, and-"

A low, rumbling laugh filled the room. Sabrina's heart skipped a beat in shock. She desperately scanned the room, attempting to find the source of the laughter. Salem and Leota huddled close to her feet, in an attempt for protection.

"**Foolish child,"** the bodiless voice rumbled, **"I am quite shocked that you have decided to come thus far."**

"Thorne," the Spirit Detective hissed, bright points of anger shining in her eyes.

"**Although, I must confess, I am surprised that a half-breed whelp could find its way into the very heart of this mansion…things are not always as they seem, are they not?"**

Sabrina made a snarling noise in the back of her throat, hands clenching. Salem's eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of Thorne's voice. Instead of finding the dark warlock, however, the cat found something more…disturbing.

"Sabrina!" he yelped.

"Huh?" She blinked, momentarily distracted from Thorne's taunting.

"The ceiling! Look!"

Sabrina tilted her head back and gasped. The ceiling of the Secret Room was slowly, steadily rising upwards. Or…was the floor dropping downwards? _Neither's a good option,_ Sabrina gulped as she watched the striped wallpaper loom high above her. The color drained from her face as sweat beaded on her forehead.

"**Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding. Can it be that this room is actually stretching?"** Thorne mocked, laughing at her distress.

Leota made a small, tremulous noise in the back of her throat. "The p-paintings…" she managed to choke out.

The teenage girl's gaze whipped to the nearest painting, which happened to be Mary Gracey's. The pink-clad woman was still clutching her parasol, but smiling vacantly at the viewer, her eyes wide and devoid of emotion. The portrait's frame was slowly stretching along with the wall, enlarging the canvas beneath it.

Sabrina's throat felt like cotton._ That's not supposed to be like that. No, no, no, that's __**not**__ how it goes!_

Mary was perched, innocently, on a tightrope stretched across a river. As the rope frayed beneath her feet, she clutched her sunshade and smiled. The sun shone warm upon her slender figure, as she stood, mercifully oblivious of the alligator in the water beneath her, jaws open wide, yellow eyes glittering with anticipation…

"NO!" Sabrina howled. "That's not how it happened!"

Cold laughter was her only response as she spun to wildly face the other portraits. Walter Gracey stood in his striped underpants, pompously clutching at a piece of paper. The diplomat seemed perfectly ready to deliver a speech, on top of a barrel of dynamite, fuse slowly burning away…

Sally Boufont was perched jauntily upon a headstone, delicately sniffing a rose. 'Rest in peace, dear beloved George,' the headstone proclaimed, featuring a bust of George Gracey, a thick axe buried in his skull. Sally smiled satisfactorily, cold calculation gleaming in her eyes…

Eddy Foster was standing on the shoulders of an angry-looking man in a red suit with graying hair and a long, drooping mustache. The man in red was, in turn, seated upon the shoulders of a third man, absolute panic written on his face. The third man was buried to his waist in thick, cement-colored mud. The cause of his distress was evident; a small wooden sign next to him warned, 'Danger! Quicksand!'

Sabrina trembled, crying out. "That's not how they died! Stop it! Stop **lying**!" She shuddered violently, desperately fighting down the wild emotions spiraling out of control.

"Danny Patterson…the liveryman…and Asa Gilbert…the handyman…" Leota whispered. "I…I never thought…"

The room seemed to have stopped; the paintings moved no more, and the striped wallpaper stretched no further.

"**And notice this," **Thorne pointed out, **"this chamber has no windows and no doors…which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!"**

The mad wizard erupted into laughter, as Sabrina whirled around, desperately praying that it was another one of his lies. _No such luck. Damn._

"How do we get out?" Salem whimpered plaintively. Leota seemed to have been shocked into silence; a haunted look was drawn across her face.

"**Of course, there's always…Edward's way…"**

With a brilliant clap of thunder and flash of lightning, the room was plunged into darkness, and a scream was torn from Sabrina's throat.

Dangling from the rafters of the cupola above, the corpse of Edward Gracey hung quite still.

Sabrina collapsed to the floor, shock coursing through her system. Her eyes couldn't leave the skeleton hanging fifty feet above, dressed in an elaborate, tattered wedding suit of black and gray._ The picture in the Portrait Gallery…it had a rope around its neck…he—he hanged himself?_

"**The deplorable fool…once he permitted my entrance into the Secret Room, he was of no other worth…"**

"You **killed** him!" Sabrina screamed, anger burning in her eyes, tears streaming from her eyes. "You sick, twisted, heartless **bastard**! You used him and killed him! I'll **never** forgive you!"

"**And why should forgiveness be my goal?"** Thorne pointed out, clearly amused. **"Glory can never be found in seeking redemption."**

Leota closed her eyes during this exchange, remembering a day many years ago…

_**The young man walked as if in a trance, his black-and-gray formal suit smeared with blood. Coal-black hair flopped limply across a face haunted with despair. He seemed so dazed and despondent that one would assume him to be no more than a puppet being pulled toward the deeply etched carving on the wall before him.**_

_**It would have been a correct assumption.**_

_**The dark shadow that glided after him kept its gaze upon the wall. The carving resembled a Celtic knot, with intricate loops and whorls dancing around each other. Cold, cruel eyes bulged in anticipation, as a predatory smile stretched across a flat, toad-featured face.**_

_**The groom stopped, staring dumbly at the carving, Slowly, jerking slightly, his right arm raised, hand clenching into a fist. A metal ring that greatly resembled the carving sheathed the index finger. The ring slowly began to glow, one of the wooden threads in the carving responding likewise.**_

_**The glow spread along the entwining threads, dipping and looping throughout the pattern. It came to a rest in the corner opposite the first thread, leaving the pattern glowing a bright green. Slowly, a panel swung open from the wall.**_

_**Edward Gracey stiffly walked inside, the Master of Shadows following.**_

_**Madame Leota Toombs, psychic medium, had followed the two men from the hallway where they'd left the cooling body of the bride. Waiting until the two had gone in, she paused a second, gathering her courage, then dashed to the door and peeked in.**_

_**Atticus Thorne stood in the center of the Secret Room, as the passageway had been dubbed. His toadlike face was turned upwards, a serene smile on his face as he viewed the ceiling.**_

_**Abruptly, he turned toward the other wall, examining it.**_

_**Gathering her courage, Leota quietly stepped into the room, closing the panel behind her softly. As she laid herself on the ground, in the shadows of the dimly lit room, the chamber began to stretch, living up to its second name: the Stretching Room.**_

_**Thorne stepped back in amazement for a moment, watching the walls in front of him extend. Leota dared not breathe.**_

_**After an eternity, a panel slid open before Thorne, and he stepped out. Waiting a few minutes, Leota exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Carefully, she stood up, tilting her head towards the ceiling, wondering what Thorne found so fascinating.**_

_**The body of one of her dearest friends in the world hung silently from a noose attached to the rafters.**_

_**Leota nearly doubled over, retching, but clamped down on her sorrow immediately. Her hands balled into fists. **_**_Gathering her courage, the psychic strode through the open panel…_**

Leota opened her eyes, raising them to the ceiling. _If I hadn't hesitated…if I had gone into the room when they did…Edward would have lived. I could have prevented him from being murdered. Edward seems to have forgiven me…or forgotten…but can __**I**__ ever forgive __**myself**__?_

Angry tears still flowed down the teenage witch's face.

"**How sentimental…has your anger been freshly kindled with this knowledge? Then you may as well put it to use…"**

A panel slid out from the wall across from them. Sabrina stood still.

_I never really knew what evil was…The villain in a movie, the crooks on TV…Libby…but this, here, is evil. An utter disregard for life or sanctity…Pure, unadulterated ambition that lets nothing stand in its way… A loss of emotions… This is evil. It is my duty to purge this evil from the world. I **will** avenge the wrongful deaths of these people._

Sabrina bent down and scooped her companions back into the backpack. Slinging it onto her back, she took a deep breath, and walked through the door.

_I wonder if I'll ever leave this room…_

The Spirit Detective sucked in her breath once she entered the final room.

The Inner Sanctum loomed around her with all the subtlety of a Mayan temple. Walls of cold stone stretched into darkness high above (_How far down did the Stretching Room take us?_ Sabrina pondered). Torches mounted every few feet helped to illuminate the dark chamber, but not by much. It was cold and dark: rather ironic for the original housing place of a weapon of light. The chamber lacked the lavish care and beauty that trademarked the rest of the Mansion. _Then again, this was a room that was never meant to be seen._

The only ornamentation (if one could call it that) was a stone altar in the center of the room. Circular in shape, it rose some three feet above the ground._ That must have been where the Beacon was kept!_

She stepped forward, and the panel slid shut behind her.

'_Past the point of no return—no backward glances: the games we've played till now are at an end…'_

Slow, dark laughter drifted lazily from the shadows.

Thorne virtually glided from the darker corners of the room, robes of dark purple sweeping behind him. "I must thank you, Sabrina, as you have brought them to me."

_What does he mean? It can't be…Salem and Leota? Oh no, I've brought them into danger…_

The warlock laughed at the fear and bewilderment on her face. "I have little interest in your pathetic followers, child…what I desire is the Beacon."

"You'll never get it, Thorne!" Leota cried like a melodramatic heroine of old. "We stopped you a hundred and twenty years ago, and we'll stop you now!"

"Of course," Thorne sneered. "But you did pay the price in your own blood, Madame Toombs. You should do well to remember that."

"…Leota?" Sabrina asked, softly. "What is he talking about?"

Leota stared at the warlock icily. "I told you he killed **everyone** in the Mansion. I wasn't excluding myself."

Salem snarled, puffing slightly. "The bastard…" he hissed.

_Oh God…**he** was the one who killed Leota…_

Thorne smirked slowly. "You may have won, I **suppose**," he drawled doubtfully, "had you not **completely** lost your head near the end…"

"You are mistaken," Leota responded in a cold tone, "if you believe that a trail of death will lead you to the Beacon."

"But **you **are mistaken in believing that I am content to stop at death." Thorne's cold eyes seemed to slowly glow. "My ambition is to conquer the land of the living as well."

Sabrina's legs wobbled ever so slightly.

"Death will come to all, inevitably. But why let it wait? Why be bound to a fate of slow decay? Are we created in a state of fragility, waiting only for death to smash us into oblivion?" A look of something akin to rapture was beginning to slowly dawn upon his face. "Can we not **transcend** life itself? If the cycle can be broken…if fragile life can be replaced with powerful, inevitable death…"

"You're crazy," Sabrina whispered. _Another power-crazed fool lusting after eternal life? _

"Not insane, Miss Spellman," he corrected, "only rational. And much too eager to triumph where others hath failed. If the worlds of the living and dead are joined, a new world would be created…where those of supreme power would become **gods** over all…"

Sabrina laughed softly in scorn. "Let me guess…you see yourself as God of the Dead, am I right?"

He inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent of the air. "Gods, indeed…long have I waited…to be worshiped as a god…"

His reverie snapped and broke, and determination overrode Thorne's facial expressions. "Once the worlds of the living and the dead are connected to the Netherworld, the cycle of life and death will be dissolved. The human race, weak and servile as they are, will be eradicated, along with those tainted with their filth. The servants of the Order will be amply rewarded with eternal life and power, and I…will become God-King over all."

Sabrina nearly felt like throwing up. _His dream is sick and twisted…it's to destroy all sense of balance…to vanquish light and life…to destroy the worlds…_

"Power beyond a man's wildest dreams…power over life and death itself…" he whispered, his eyes now focusing on the Beacon. "But to attain this, I must absorb more magical energy."

Sabrina pulled it back. "No way. The Graceys lived and died for this treasure, and you will **never** take it!" She narrowed her eyes. "You'll only take the Beacon and use it for your own selfish purposes."

He laughed in scorn. "And what would **you **propose to do with it?" he sneered. "You asinine **fool**! You know **nothing** of the Beacon of Souls; its history and true power are mysteries to an insect like you."

The teenage witch bristled. "Druids created it," she snapped back, "and it's a weapon of light. To be used against heartless monsters of the dark like **you**."

"Allow me to instruct you further," Thorne replied mockingly. "The Beacon was created nearly fifty score years ago, by a Druid priestess called Siobhan the Pure. Her fellow countrymen were beginning to turn to the Dark Ways; thus, the Beacon was formed to combat the forces of Dark."

He paced slightly before the altar before turning to look her in the eyes. "But without a source of power, 'twas useless. The Dark Forces were gaining fast their power, and time was short. Siobhan and five of her clan," he announced in ringing tones, "sacrificed their souls into tangible form to power the Beacon."

_Their __**souls**__? _Sabrina shuddered, as she looked at the Beacon, and the twinkling gems set into it.

"It's true," Leota said quietly. "The Soul Gems are the crystallized essences of those Druids' souls. They gave their lives in the fight against the Dark Forces."

"Such a pity that your lesson came with such a heavy price," Thorne said, shaking his head in mock-sorrow.

"Why?" Sabrina narrowed her eyes.

Thorne gestured, pointing at the Beacon with his index finger. Sabrina dumbly watched a spiral of black sparks shoot towards the lantern, before she realized he had cast a spell.

The Beacon suddenly jerked out of her hand, and flew towards Thorne. Sabrina felt her own hand rise, finger involuntarily pointing, before she squelched the urge to cast a summoning spell. Thorne was more powerful than her; likely, her spells would have little consequence.

The power inside the Beacon's core flowed out in a stream of green ectoplasmic energy; phantom skulls swirled around Thorne like a miasma. "I must thank thee, Miss Spellman, for re-assembling the Beacon for me."

Her hands clenched as the ectoplasm began to absorb into Thorne's body. The Soul Gems began to glow, a slow stream of sparkles flowing from them into the energy cloud. _He's stealing their energy and absorbing it into his own magic reserve._

"I also thank you, my minions, for serving me well these centuries past," he continued, the swirling haze brightening in color. The lurid green reflected off his face like a hell-glow. Sabrina pulled her arm nearly in front of her eyes, trying to shield them.

"The energy cloud!" Salem yelped from the backpack. "It's getting stronger!"

The supernatural wind whipped sharply by her face. "It **is**," she noted, "But **how**? Is more energy coming from the…"

Wild shrieking and screaming suddenly filled the air, ebbing and flowing like a macabre tide. The room was filled with wisps of white smoke shaped like humanoid figures, writhing in torment, illuminated by the green glow.

"What **are** they?" Sabrina screamed. _They look like the souls of the damned…_

"They're the souls of those Netherworld demons," Leota shouted over the screams and rushing of the wind. "He's consuming their very souls."

Sabrina's eyes bulged. "I know he's obsessed with gaining power," she shouted back, "but this seems a bit extreme, don't you think?" _How horrible…he gives no mercy even to his own followers…_

"Oh, maybe just a little," Leota called back sarcastically.

The light had drained out of the glowing crystal in the center of the Beacon. Thorne tossed it aside like a piece of trash once he had absorbed the soul-trapper's essence. The ancient lantern clanked noisily as it hit hard stone, and rolled to a stop a few feet away from Sabrina.

"Death will come over time…but I have not the patience to wait." His cold eyes narrowed, burning with a frozen fire. "Everything from the mountainous peaks to the forest songbirds will be consumed by worms, which will rule over all mortality."

The miasma of supernatural energy swelled, nearly blinding her with its intensity. She was crouching on the floor, covering her head with her arms and hands, and Thorne was screaming in a strange language—Latin, maybe.

She could hear bones snapping, and a strange bubbling sound. _What's happening? What's Thorne doing?_

Impulsively, she threw her arms off her face, half-expecting to see Thorne lying on the floor, Netherworld demons ripping him apart.

Instead, the dark warlock was convulsing, his flesh bubbling under the billowing robes. There was a brief crunching noise, and then he began to expand slowly, like a balloon.

_What in the name of all that's sane and good is going on here?_

Sabrina felt like throwing up as Thorne's body elongated, still swelling. The fabric of the robes tore, and she briefly averted her head as sickly greenish-white skin became exposed. The bones in his face bulged, the skin thinly covering them.

Sabrina trembled, still crouching on the floor. Now, she understood. He had invoked an ancient—and particularly dangerous—transformation spell.

The creature before her was barely recognizable, for having once been humanoid. Possibly twenty or thirty feet in length, it was the same sickly greenish-white that Thorne's skin had been.

"It looks like a larva," Salem blinked.

Taken aback for a moment, the teenage witch realized her cat was right. The Thorne-creature had the same moist look, his body divided in ridged sections. It had a head, though; bony and elongated, it vaguely resembled that of a dragon, with a high crest and sharp snout. Sharp, glittering eyes, the color of dull malachite, regarded the teenage witch hungrily—much like a starving truck driver eyes a lone Twinkie.

Without warning, three pairs of arms burst out of the creature's sides. Dripping a green substance that looked vaguely like slime or mucus, the appendages landed firmly on the floor, flexing quickly.

The teenage witch shuddered and pulled back. _I don't want to end this case with being eaten alive! I've beat giant bloodthirsty spiders, so a gigantic worm-monster should be no problem! …right?_

A low rumbling noise echoed through the room, and Sabrina half-turned to the ceiling to see if the room was stretching again._ Not again… _Then it hit her that the rumbling was the Thorne-creature's version of his low, icy chuckle.

"My feast has only just begun," Thorne taunted, his voice as distorted as his body.

_Great—and we're the main course!_

Sabrina quickly snatched the Beacon, and attempted to fire it. _I've got to do this as quickly as possib…wait a minute. What the hell?_

The familiar pulse of energy was gone. It was like trying to connect with a block of wood; it hung, lifeless, in her hands. The warm Soul Energy that she could feel, pulsing in her hands, coursing through her body, had been drained, and the Beacon was…useless.

"Why aren't you firing?" Salem hissed. "Shoot him before he makes kitty kibble out of us!"

"Fool," Thorne laughed with contempt. "The Beacon is useless without its core. Once drained of its source of souls, 'tis like firing a cannon with no ammunition."

_Its core?_

Sabrina quickly examined the Beacon, studying the crystal soul-trapper in its center.

_That's the same size as…_

To say that she had a brilliant idea was an understatement. The girl whipped the backpack around, and began rooting through it.

"Sabrina, what are you…?" The psychic never got a chance to finish her sentence, as the teenage witch plucked her crystal ball out of the bag.

"Sorry about this, Leota!" Sabrina called, as she dropped her backpack on the floor, and flipped open the metal cage holding the soul-catcher in place.

"What are you **doing**?" Leota screeched, as Sabrina pulled the now-useless soul crystal out of the Beacon, and dropped it into the backpack.

Sabrina made no reply as she jammed Leota's crystal ball into the Beacon. The psychic gave a cry of protest as the Spirit Detective fastened the metal clasps around the crystal, holding it firmly in place. She held it up, quickly appraising her impromptu handiwork.

"Now, **that's** what I call ingenuity," Salem remarked.

A slow shrieking pierced the air. Sabrina's head whipped around, searching for the source of the cry._ Is that…the souls he consumed?_

"Can you hear that?" Thorne taunted. "Their suffering brings me greater strength. As the vital Soul Energy leaves them, they begin to fade…until their souls eventually decay and perish. And there once I have digested them, there are 999 more delicious morsels left to feast upon."

The faces of the ghosts she'd seen whirled through her head. The terrified man in the Séance Room…Madame Tangerine in the Dining Room…The gardener in the Winter Garden… He would continue to exist in fear. She would never have another birthday with her friends. He would never see his roses bloom. Because of **him**.

Edward, Elizabeth, and Leota had been brutally murdered at his hands. Edward and Elizabeth would never be able to get married, and live happily ever after. Their 'ever after' was a lifetime and beyond of sorrow, despair, and terror.

It was up to her to make these things right. It was up to her to deliver justice to those who flagrantly disobeyed the ancient laws.

She was a Spirit Detective. And it was time for her to go to work.

The Thorne-creature sneered at her determined face. "No matter how many souls I feed upon, though…there's always room…FOR AT LEAST ONE MORE!"

With that, he swung forward, jaws open wide to devour her on the spot. Saliva dripped from a strangely toothy mouth to spatter upon the floor. Sabrina skipped backward, flying through the air. Now off-target, Thorne crashed into the stone floor below.

Growling, he rose out of the small crater, angered at being deprived of his prey. Sabrina, however, didn't waste a moment as she began to fire from the newly restored Beacon.

The blasts of light shimmered strangely, as if every color of the rainbow was wrapped around each other and dunked in silvery-white dew. The strange light burned at Thorne's flesh, leaving tender-looking reddish marks on the slimy pale-green skin.

Bellowing in pain, it reared up, eyes flashing. Inevitably, the worm dropped to the ground, causing the stone floor to shudder beneath her feet. Angered by his prey's unexpected strength, the Thorne-worm loomed over the girl like a small mountain. Sabrina cautiously leaned back. _Why does he…or it, rather…look ready to explode?_

The beast's abdomen began to glow a coal-like red, pulsing like the broken heart of a murdered bride. The Spirit Detective paused, momentarily confused._ Did I strike a critical hit already?_

With a rushing sound like an airplane in takeoff, Thorne began belching fireballs in Sabrina's general vicinity. The experience reminded her much too unpleasantly of the Trophy Room…and this time, no chivalrous piece of armor was dashing to her rescue.

The teenage witch shrieked and leaped back. "Oww! Hot, hot!" _And these boots are most likely flammable!_

"Stop jumping and **fire!**" Salem shrieked from somewhere behind her. Unseen by his half-human counterpart, Salem's golden eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, tail thrashing from side to side.

"I **will**! Now shut **up**!" the girl snapped back, before running to her right._ Gotta get out of his line of fire, or I'll be toast…literally!_

Figuring that if she targeted the area fueling his fire-breath, Thorne would be unable to cremate her, Sabrina opened fire upon his belly. The desired effect—he rolled over due to the unexpected force of the blows, new burns appearing—was almost immediately achieved, much to the girl's delight.

Frustrated, the worm continued to spit fire at the girl—or, rather, tried to. With a swiftness that surprised even herself, Sabrina ran around the stone chamber, firing at the worm as she went. It was vaguely reminiscent of her fight against the first banshee she saw…except that this wasn't a ghost.

Her last shot caught the beast between the eyes._ Jackpot! _Angry red welts left by the new power core had sprung upon the Thorne-worm's skin like the chicken pox. It focused eyes smoldering with anger on her as it shivered and shook.

Breathlessly, she stepped back, anticipating it to crash upon the floor, dead, or partly dead.

Instead, the worm shrunk.

Flesh shriveled, bones either sunk back into the body or began growing, and the worm collapsed upon itself. With a sudden flash of purple fabric and black fire, the dark wizard stood before her in his humanoid form, body liberally dotted with fierce-looking burns. His eyes focused upon her, narrowed with hatred.

"No more games," he wheezed, appearing faintly angry at his lack of breath. "The consequences are now final…and fatal."

Before she had time to sneer or form a cutting remark, he flung a fistful of dark fire at her. The fire didn't ignite her dress, but felt like it seeped through to the flesh below, burning her skin. Sabrina momentarily panicked, flailing desperately as she attempted to extinguish a fire that **felt** real, but didn't appear to be real at **all**.

Thorne softly laughed at her distress, conjuring more hellflames.

In desperate retaliation, she opened fire, spraying him with bursts of power from the Beacon. The two briefly tossed shots at each other, like desperate gangsters with a vendetta.

It must have occurred to Thorne as well as Sabrina that combat of this sort was neither very constructive, nor damage-intensive.

The wizard stopped, royal purple robes swirling about his feet. Black flames roiled along the robe's hem, crackling in and out of existence. He narrowed his eyes as he briefly studied the teenage girl opposite him.

"In all actuality, I may claim a sense of respect. I've never…been pushed to do…**this** before…" So saying, he backtracked to the altar, standing before it. "But I would have you prove your worth, you wretch of tainted blood."

"Prove my worth?" Sabrina spat. "I think I've proved myself ten times over tonight. I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm **not** going to run and hide."

Flames danced in his eyes. "Good."

He threw his head back, and his arms up, giving a strange, guttural cry. The flames on his robe spread outward, sizzling across the floor like fire on a trail of wine. The hellflames spread to encircle half the room: a circle perhaps a hundred feet wide.

_Beautiful. I'm trapped._

Salem gave a shrill cry as the stone floor began to shake and leap, stones buckling and quivering. The Spirit Detective nearly lost her footing, the heels on her boots tripping over the splintering floor.

With a roar like a dragon, the altar and the stones surrounding it collapsed. Sabrina's eyes widened at the hole forming in the center of the room. _Where does it go? Is there someplace underneath the Mansion that he's trying to open up? What __**is**__ he trying to do?_

Like a macabre fountain, a jet of fire suddenly erupted from the hole where the altar once stood. Thorne stood before it, arms spread wide as he summoned the flames of Hell. Piteous wailing drifted from the hole, sending shivers down her spine.

"Oh my God," she murmured. "He opened a portal to…"

She trailed off as faces leered from the flames, which dropped down into the hole. Afraid to go closer, Sabrina edged back. Thorne began to laugh with triumph at his success.

"You said that you had proved yourself, Miss Spellman? Not quite. You still must stand before judgment…your **final **judgment. Come, stand and be judged. Judged by the flames of **Hell**!"

He whipped a handful of flames at her again, and she staggered back.

_Ugh…I can't see! Where is he? I can't even hear him…_

Something crashed into her back, and she was sent sprawling. Sabrina rolled dangerously close to the portal, barely able to scramble up in time. Feebly, she sprayed the air around her with shots from the Beacon, but she was only met with Thorne's cold, dark laughter.

Sabrina squinted into the semi-darkness._ Where did he go?_

Something heavy smashed into her, like a ton of bricks. She flew across the room, colliding with the wall, the breath crushed out of her lungs. There was a strange popping noise, and pain exploded in her left shoulder. Her legs trembled once, and gave out under her, sending the Spirit Detective sliding to the floor.

"Pitiful."

She coughed as something dark drew closer. Sabrina tried to focus, but bright white points of pain and anger were sparking in her eyes like fireworks, and her head was throbbing in a strange way.

"An insect such as you should be exterminated."

A sharp toe of a shoe caught her between the ribs and sent her sprawling. She rolled again and again upon her dislocated shoulder, the bones grinding together.

"Perhaps I'll take it upon myself."

Sabrina lay on her side, staring into the luridly glowing pit._ Is this what it's like to die? I guess I'll find out soon…_

Edward's haunted eyes flashed before her face. Elizabeth's mournfully beating heart. The gentle faces of Emily and Daniel._ Leota…_

Could she just lay there and die, without even **attempting** to save her friends?

Would she fail in this mission she was entrusted with?

Should she simply admit that Thorne and everybody else were right: she was a lower being, a half-breed sullied with tainted blood, a girl-child of no account who would never amount to much?

_No._

_I will fight._

"Get up," Thorne snarled.

She struggled faintly, attempting to sit up. Impatient, he grabbed her by a hank of hair, and yanked her up to a half-kneeling position. His cold eyes glittered as he surveyed her haggard, ashen, pain-drawn face. A thin trail of blood slowly trickled from a cut on her forehead.

"You remind me of Madame Toombs before she died…"

_**The gypsy woman knelt on the stone floor, clutching a cut on her side. She gasped in pain as more blood stubbornly flowed through her fingers. Her mission had been a bittersweet mix of failure and success.**_

_**She had hidden the Beacon safely. But she had let her dearest friend in the world—and her heart's brother—die horribly.**_

_**The man loomed before her. "Tell me where you have hidden the Beacon, gypsy woman," he growled, eyes glowing dull jade in the faint light, "and I may yet spare your life."**_

_**Leota Toombs jerked her head upward to glare at the dark warlock. "No."**_

"_**I foresee a short future for you, Madame Leota…"**_

**_Leota laughed harshly, wincing with pain. "And I thought _I_ was the psychic here."_**

_**He drew closer, something in his hand glittering dull and gray.**_

"_**If you think that killing me is the worst thing that you can do," Leota smirked, the corners of her lips lifting, "then you are more mistaken than you could ever believe."**_

_**The blade descended swiftly.**_

_**Atticus Thorne casually examined the corpse of Leota Toombs, nudging her head with the tip of the weapon. He watched, amused, as it rolled across the floor, spreading the pool of blood leaking from the neck of the corpse.**_

"_**Mistaken? Am I?"**_

Sabrina felt like vomiting, but she choked, keeping the bile and stomach contents down._ I may not be able to stop him. He may just kill me like he murdered Leota…but I have to stop him._

She eyed the portal, innocently glowing with the fires of Hell.

_Even if that means taking him with me._

Thorne smirked as he stared at her. Something inside Sabrina snapped, and she spat in his face. With a snarl, he threw her to the side, as he clawed at his face.

"Impertinent, filthy, whore-born **bitch**!" he snarled. "If you have frustrated me and my efforts once, you have frustrated them a thousand times. TBut not any longer!"

He reached down with a clawlike hand and grabbed Sabrina by the front of her dress. Hoisting her up, he dangled her above the portal.

"Damn you," he whispered, eyes glowing murderously. "Damn you to **hell**!"

"I...d-don't think," Sabrina choked, "that I-I-**I'm** the one…who'll be…b-burning in hell…"

The faces of the victims cascaded around her in an endless spiral, forlorn faces crying for justice and revenge. Something burned inside her, fueled by their torment and their cry for redress.

She lifted her hand slowly, feeling the magic pulsing inside her seek for an outlet. Something else burned, hot in her veins, crying to be acknowledged, to be used. Her bad arm ached as she desperately pulled her hand up higher and higher. With a force and strength born from her seething emotions, she plunged her hand to Thorne's face.

The energy seared at his face, burning the skin. He screamed in pain, throwing her to the side as he clutched at the charred, peeling skin.

Coughing more violently now, she pushed herself off the floor. _This is for the countless victims you tortured in your quest for ultimate power…for the utter disregard of those you share this world with. It is too late for you to see that no one person can have power absolute…greater men than you have corrupted themselves blindly to attain it…and so have you._

Sabrina pulled at the power core, trying to draw as much energy as possible out of it._ Please, let this work…__**please**__…_The teenage witch began channeling her own magic into the mass of energy, blindly praying that it would be enough.

She swayed on her feet, feeling strangely dizzy; the world swam in and out of focus with vaguely kaleidoscopic colors._ No…I-I have to do this…_

With a deep breath, she pulled at the energy, lacing it up her arm, and then launched the mass at Thorne. "So far as I'm concerned, the only one going to Hell here is **you**!"

The wizard looked up from his hunched position next to the portal, hands gripping his face. His dull green eyes bulged as the shimmering mass energy hurtled toward him like a rocket. The fingers tightened on blackened, cracked skin until blood ran.

With a scream, he was knocked backwards, falling into the portal. Sabrina had been too afraid to look into the depths of the abyss: she would not have seen that it was a craggy stone passageway, like the entrance to a cave, lit with an unholy, flickering glow.

A surge of flame burst from the entrance just as the wizard stumbled backwards into it. Skinny, stunted arms stretched out of the geyser of fire and brimstone, clawing and clutching at the voluminous robes. Pointed faces leered through the fiery curtain, soulless eyes burning. Thorne screamed again, desperately struggling to regain his footing, but the demonic arms were simply too strong. The wizard was pulled, headlong, into the abyss, tumbling in midair with the demons, who began to strip the charred flesh off his bones.

For a moment, a chorus of plaintive, piteous wailing drifted from the lake of fire below. The screaming of Atticus Thorne, once Grand Master of the Order of Shadows, joined it, as the tunnel's glow flared brightly. The ground shuddered, the stones rippling once more, upward, creating a crater in the floor, the portal in the center. The glow died, and the tunnel collapsed upon itself, leaving only a heap of broken rock.

Salem cowered near the wall, amber eyes near bulging out of his head._ My God… _He paused for a moment, carefully assessing the risk of danger. The portal might still be unstable, but that was of little importance to him right now…

"Sabrina?" he called hesitantly, padding towards the crater. "Sabrina? Are you all right?" He paused and waited.

Silence.

_No…she didn't fall in…did she?_

A sudden rattle of falling stone caught his attention. A thin, white hand appeared amongst the rubble, and then another. Slowly, very slowly, a black-clad figure hoisted itself out of the crater, lethargically shaking off pieces of rubble.

Sabrina Spellman stood, unsteadily, before the crater, the Beacon of Souls clenched in her left hand. The skirt of her black dress was torn, with the petticoats showing through, and dust and cinders smeared the fabric. Her braids had partially unraveled, and scuffmarks littered her boots.

Her pale face was drawn and worn, exhaustion making her figure sag. Lines of blood ran from a shallow cut over her left temple. Sabrina's right shoulder was held lower than the other, as though she was favoring an injury.

But she was **there**. She had **survived**.

"Sabrina!" Salem cried happily, leaping forward.

Pain was pressing in on every side; it hurt to breathe. Black spots were dancing in and out of her vision, and her head throbbed horribly.

But Salem was safe. And Leota…

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Sabrina Spellman collapsed lifelessly onto the cold stone floor of the Inner Sanctum.


	27. Tomorrow's Waiting For Me

She floated in nothingness, safe and warm, the darkness surrounding her like a protective womb. Everywhere was warmth and comfort—and utter sense of serenity.

_This is what death is, then. It's not so bad…I guess…_

Of course, this begged the question of exactly **where** she was. Not Hell, obviously. But not Heaven, either. Had the blood she had spilled barred her from attaining Paradise? But if so, what had kept her from falling into the pit of Hell along with Thorne? Was there some strange balance of karma she wasn't aware of being adjusted here?

_If this is Purgatory, I think I can deal. It may not be the best place, but it's certainly better than damnation._

So. She was dead, then. The mission had been completed, but she would never be able to tell Drell herself. Would he send her replacement to discover her fate? Who would discover her body?

She pictured herself slowly rotting away, like Ambrose Gracey's portrait; only to be discovered like Edward, a pitiful skeleton._ The most I can hope for is for Drell to recover my body and give it a nice funeral._

The faces of her aunts floated before her._ What will they tell Aunt Hilda and Zelda? Or Dad?_

_One thing's for sure…I never **did** see Mom again…_

Diana Spellman's sweet face appeared, and Sabrina could see it covered with pearly tears, the soft blue eyes bloodshot and reddened with grief.

_I understand…while you're comfortable and safe here, you're constantly reminded of what you left behind… I suppose I deserve it._

Another face materialized, with soft cornflower eyes and flowing flaxen curls, and Sabrina was stumped for a minute, attempting to guess who it could be.

_Emily?_

The ghost appeared before Sabrina in her teenage form, sapphire taffeta dress rustling and curls flowing in a nonexistent breeze. Lydia, the porcelain doll, was cradled in her arms. Her sky-blue eyes were soft with sympathy.

Is Emily's soul trapped here, too?

_**No.**_

The firm negative response struck a chord that rippled through her being…if she had a 'being' left. Had someone just spoken?

_**It's time to go…**_

_Emily? Is that you?_

The ghostly figure of the girl nodded.

_Go where?_

_**It's time to go back… Come.**_

Emily held out a hand, beckoning. Sabrina hesitated for a moment, but the memories came flooding back, and she could feel herself reaching out a nonexistent hand to take the ghost's.

**Somewhere, a door creaked…**

Voices jabbered, speeding up and slowing down, conversing unintelligibly. Her eyelids were pressed down like weights were attached. Something was pounding in her head, and icy tingles danced up and down her spine.

"Sabrina? Sabrina? Oh, dear…"

_What's going on? Am I still dead?_

"Got the wind knocked right out 'o 'er sails, she did."

_Do angels talk like this whenever someone shows up?_

"A right brave gal…and 'lil lady, she was."

_But if I'm dead, why does my head feel like it's being smacked with golf clubs?_

"She did sort of grow on you…"

_I think there's some sort of mistake here. There has to be._

"It was a honor to serve the maiden…"

_That's it! That's the only explanation! I never died to begin with!_

"She…she's gone…" the speaker trailed off in sniffles.

"I'm not dead **yet**!" Sabrina hollered, from where she lay flat on her back.

The six ghosts turned around from where they'd stood, discussing the Spirit Detective's 'death.' Eyes wide, they watched her slowly pry her eyes open, and attempt to sit up.

"Sabs!" Salem squealed, leaping onto her lap. "You're not dead!"

"You made it!" Grandma Bootsie cheered, clapping her hands together. "We are so sure you'd…well…passed on."

"I thought so, too." Sabrina felt a sharp stab of pain in her left shoulder, and winced. _Yup. I'm alive, all right. _"Anyone want to tell me what happened?"

"We came as soon as we could," Red Roger began to explain, "once we 'eard what 'appened ter the rascally codswallop. And there ya were, sprawled on the floor, and we all thought that 'e'd got ya…didn't we, Sartoris?"

Colonel Sartoris nodded, twirling his pistol around one finger. "Thought the dad-burn skunk'd gone and rubbed ya out, miss. Turns out we were mistaken." He flashed her a grin. "Knew you'd stand up undah fahr."

Sabrina rubbed her head with her good arm. "So I…passed out?"

"And dislocated your shoulder, as well, I suppose," the organist cut in. "You must have lapsed into unconsciousness because of your injuries."

"But you survived, and are victorious, milady!" Sir Bertram beamed. "We are free of that tyrant's control, due to your outstanding valor."

"And it's all thanks to you and…Leota?" Brunhilde trailed off.

Sabrina, Salem, and the six ghosts stared at each other. Leota had said nothing while Sabrina had been passed out, nor during the current conversation.

_Oh, no…when I used her crystal ball as the core…did I use Leota's life force to battle Thorne? Did I…kill her?_

Sabrina carefully pulled the Beacon onto her lap. "Leota? Are you…okay?"

She pried open the clasps—a bit hard to do with one hand—and dropped the crystal ball onto her lap. The ball swam with inky clouds, and the psychic's head couldn't be seen.

"Leota?" Sabrina called again, the name sticking in her throat.

_Oh, God, **please**, not Leota…don't let her be…_

Sabrina nearly choked, thinking of her mentor as…gone._ We came all this way, just for you to sacrifice yourself…_

The inner clouds abruptly tinged green, and parted to reveal a dizzy-looking Leota. "Take that, you overgrown grub! …What's going on? Is it over already?"

Her anxieties dropped away like a cast-off anchor, and Sabrina sighed with relief. "Yes. He's…I k-kil…he's gone."

"And from what I saw, he's not coming back anytime soon," Salem reassured her.

"All the souls have been freed and are safe," Grandma Bootsie beamed. "I'm so proud of the three of you."

Sabrina smiled. _Ah…a job well done. Wait…wait a minute…_

"What about the souls of his minions?" Sabrina asked, panic tingeing her voice. "You said the souls from the Beacon were safe…"

"Ah don't rightly know," Colonel Sartoris admitted. "Most are gone fer good—devoured completely. Some musta 'scaped back ter the Netherworld, ah reckon. I bet they're not gonna come back anytime soon," he darkly chuckled.

Sabrina slumped slightly._ I can't explain why, but I feel…sorry…sorry for them. How horrible it must be, to have your soul destroyed. To not…exist…anymore._ She shuddered.

"You must be chilled, my lady," Sir Bertram announced, mistaking her gesture. "Come, we shall adjourn upstairs. We shall conduct you to the Master."

"Yes…we've got to tell Edward the good news," Leota murmured._ I can hardly wait to see his face…to tell him…_

The group then made its way to the Stretching Chamber, Sabrina taking the rear. Before she entered the room, she took one last look at the Inner Sanctum.

She could almost picture a stone dais in the center of a smooth, unblemished stone floor: a man in a linen shirt with a fussy collar placing a battered ancient lantern atop it with the utmost care. He turned around and smiled, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Sabrina smiled back as he nodded and then turned around to face the dais. Her mind's eye vision of Ambrose Gracey faded, and Sabrina entered the Stretching Room.

It was a long walk from the Foyer to the Study; and Sabrina had a sneaking suspicion that the ghosts could go through walls, but were refraining out of good manners. Her shoulder continually throbbed and made a slight grating noise as they walked through the hallways.

Edward Gracey had been pacing in the Study when they arrived; he looked up, startled. His coal-black hair was slightly damp, and the circles under his eyes had deepened. Worry was etched onto the contours of his face.

He took a step forward, and stopped, almost as if in disbelief. "Thank God," he whispered hoarsely as Sabrina stood in the doorway. "Miss Spellman…I had feared the worst…"

Sabrina gave him a tired smile as she slowly ambled into the room proper. "It's good to see you too, Mr. Gracey. The fireplace looks really inviting, and my shoulder's hurting like a bi…" she trailed off, ashamed of her thoughtless lapse. "My shoulder really hurts, so do you mind if I sit down?"

"Yes…yes, of course." Edward's eyes widened with worry and surprise, lingering on her shoulder._ She didn't escape totally unscathed…but she's alive._

"Did you hurt yourself, honey?" Leota cried in dismay.

"Thorne slammed me against a wall, and my shoulder did something funny. It made this popping noise, and it feels like it's grating or something…"

Salem made a _tsk_ noise. "Probably dislocated."

The teenage witch sighed. "Wonderful. How do I fix it?"

"Put it back in the socket."

"But I don't know how to do that."

"Get someone else to do it."

"I don't see any doctors around here."

"Well, that's not **my** problem, now is it?"

Sabrina bit her lips to keep from screaming. _It probably wouldn't be polite to throw one of Edward's neat little gadgets at Salem. _Turning to the ghosts, she smiled. "Is there a doctor in the house?"

"Lemme take a look, now," Red Roger boomed. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and carefully examined the joint. Sabrina hissed, as pain flared at the slightest touch.

"Aye, that's got ter hurt. All swollen up, it 'tis. Well, I can fix this quick. Hold still."

"Ghosts can touch people?" Sabrina blinked. "I thought they went right through things."

Leota shook her head. "Ghosts are the tangible form of the soul's energy left on earth, after the body has died. If a soul is impeded from leaving, its energy forms into a ghost. As you've discovered before, Soul Energy does have a physical form—partially solid, although it's also gas-like."

Taking advantage of the distraction, Roger yanked Sabrina's arm back into place.

Sabrina yowled suddenly with pain. Wincing, tears springing to her eyes, she rubbed her shoulder. "I believe you now."

Edward stood in the background, not quite paying attention. "He's gone," he murmured, almost in incredulity. "After a hundred and twenty years…after so much pain and torment…we're free. Free from the curse." His hands trembled.

He could remember hanging in the air, heels kicking wildly at nothing until the darkness abruptly claimed him…bloody shapes on the floor that had been friends and family…the knife jerking into her chest, tearing her life out as she crumpled, crimson drops spraying, to the floor.

"_My heart beats for you alone…"_

"Elizabeth," he whispered.

Her name hung in the air like an unspoken promise.

It had been little more than a century, but it had seemed like an eternity. They were together in life, but separate in death. But the impediment was **gone**. The curse was broken, and they all could have a second chance.

_And I vow that I will finally be with you, my love._

Edward looked up at the group before him: his dearest friend, Leota, the ghosts who had helped protect the Beacon, and their saviors. The girl—and her cat—who had risked her life to save a haunted manor filled with ghosts, all of whom were total strangers.

A strange sense of euphoria bubbled up inside of him. His cup runneth over. Thorne was **GONE** and the mansion's residents were safe, and Elizabeth…

What would be best to do?

"Edward?" Leota called from near the fireplace. "What're you doin', hon?"

A smile slowly stretched across the gentleman's features, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners. "I've decided to throw a party, in celebration of Miss Spellman's victory. Tonight. Or, rather, this morning, as the case may be," he gestured to the window.

The pitch-colored sky had lightened to deep gray, and would obviously be dawn in an hour or so.

_And the world didn't end…the sun came again…_

The corners of Sabrina's mouth turned up. _A party of full of ghosts, huh? A real monster mash…_ "Sounds good."

Edward gave his collar a quick tug into place, and the brisk, efficient manner of the head of the Gracey family and Gracey Shipping, Ltd., came surging back. "Excellent. If someone would round the servants up, we may begin preparations…and I have a special job for you, Herr von Baroketch."

The organist grumbled, drawing his cape closer. "I'd rather be back at work, but it seems I'm left little choice," he complained under his breath.

Leota rolled her eyes. "The old codger complains about **everything**," she confided to Sabrina in a stage-whisper. Sabrina laughed, drawing an annoyed glance from the organist, himself.

Edward turned to her, smiling. "Miss Spellman, you're obviously exhausted. Would you care to freshen up before the party?"

Sabrina raised a hand to her partially unraveled braids, self-consciously aware of her disheveled state. "Um, yeah. That would be great. I'm a mess, aren't I?" she laughed nervously, realizing she was babbling. "Um, yes. Thank you. It would be lovely."

Grandma Bootsie volunteered to lead the girl to a bedroom where she could clean herself up. Sabrina was led down the hallway, and into a small wing that branched off of it.

"We were never here, were we?" she asked, cautiously._ I think I'd remember…but then again, there are so many rooms here, that I don't think I can remember half of the ones we've been in._

"Actually, no, we haven't," Leota informed her. "This is the residential wing, hon. Where the family members' bedrooms were."

"Hmmm," Grandma Bootsie pondered, "I hardly know where to take you. It wouldn't be proper to use the Master Bedroom, because that's Eddy's, you know. And the others belonged to other family members, or were guest bedrooms… Well…if she doesn't mind, perhaps this is the best one…"

They stopped before a door with curling vines etched into the doorframe. "This was Emily's, before she died, but I don't think that she would mind," the elderly lady prattled. "It should have everything a young lady needs to smarten herself up, and I should know. I may not look it, but I was quite the catch back in my day."

Sabrina laughed nervously, as the grandmotherly ghost sighed, caught in her reminiscing. "I'm sure you were. Will Emily really **not** mind that I'm using her room…even if it's just temporarily?"

"Of course, dearie. Goodness, Emily was the sweetest little thing, I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing her room for one night. Now scoot along! Make yourself lovely for the party! And just scream if you need anything!"

Grandma Bootsie chuckled merrily as she headed back to the Study, leaving one nervous Sabrina standing before the bedroom.

_It feels like grave robbing, somehow. Oh well, here goes…_

She twisted the metal knob, and pushed the door open. What she'd expected, she didn't know, but Emily's bedroom was nothing like the other rooms.

The first thing that struck her was the wallpaper: a deep shade of salmon pink with intricate rose-colored flowers._ If she has pink wallpaper, she's got to be okay._

A canopied bed, with draperies in deep rose, filled the center of the room, with two ponderous armoires to its immediate left. The furniture was made of heavy, solid oak, but with carved scrollwork and scalloping.

Cautiously, Sabrina stepped in, scanning the room, as if expecting Emily to stomp out and demand that she exit the room. Sabrina understood how precious a teenager's room was; it was a sanctuary, a place where one could sit and simply relax, to do whatever you pleased in utter privacy.

_But then again, Emily's a super-nice person, so I don't think she'd really mind…_

Dust had collected thickly on the ivory carpet, tingeing it faint gray. The footprints of a teenage girl and a cat showed clearly against the furry scourge. Sabrina decided not to worry too much about getting dust on her clothing; her dress was already torn and filthy, and her hair and skin followed suit.

Instead, she opted to quickly explore Emily Gracey's bedroom.

Bookshelves framed a picture window set with cheery rose curtains. A writing desk was placed below the window, so Emily could gaze out the window while penning poetry or writing down the day's events in her diary. A teakwood writing case was perched near the edge, paper strewn untidily over the desk's surface.

To the bed's right, close to the door, was a dressing table, a velvet-padded stool pulled out invitingly. Carefully plopping herself down, Sabrina eagerly explored the table's contents, while Salem poked around under the bed. A jewelry box that resembled the writing case was placed in the center, ivory-handled brushes and combs fanning around its base. A small gallery of crystal perfume bottles clustered at one side, the pungent liquids evaporated.

Sabrina turned her gaze upward, to the mirror set at eye level above the table. A pale face stared back at her. The Spirit Detective leaned forward to examine her reflection.

Her heart-shaped face was pale—perhaps even more so from tonight's…events. Faint rings of purple were beginning to bruise under her eyelids from lack of sleep, and her normally cheerful sapphire eyes were sloping with fatigue. The blond braids that had been so carefully arranged at the start of the mission had begun to unravel; hunks of hair falling unceremoniously down the side of her face, and down the nape of her neck. Only one bow was still tied; the other loose, and hanging for dear life.

_I look like crap. Well, that's only to be expected, from fighting evil on a night like this._

Smirking at her unkempt appearance, she gauged the destruction of her dress. The skirt was ripped up one side, dusty petticoats hanging out. Dust and dirt were smeared haphazardly across the bodice and skirt, and her right cuff was beginning to fray. Dried mud and sewage were caked on her boots, with scuffs and scratches completing the job.

_Yup. Makeover time._

Sabrina gasped suddenly as the mirror's reflection showed light beginning to gather, coalescing into a shape behind her. With reflexes honed by dodging flying plates, attacking giant spiders, and leaping across flying books, she whirled around, fumbling for the Beacon.

_Shoot. I left it in the Study, didn't I?_

It turned out, as the figure finished forming, that she hadn't needed to worry about having a weapon.

"Emily?" Sabrina gaped. The ghost hovered a few scant feet away from her, like a small star hung from a wire. The teenage witch slowly pulled herself up from the stool, cautiously, like the ghost girl was a cobra coiled to strike.

The ghostly young woman offered the detective a sweet smile, unperturbed to find a living being in her room after nearly a century and a half of disuse. Emily stepped forward, her ghostly skirts and flowing curls swaying softly, but making no noise. A light, transparent hand brushed against one of the unraveling braids.

"We should get you cleaned up."

"Um, yeah," Sabrina stuttered, self-conscious in front of Emily's perfect visage, "w-we…uh…probably should."

Unable to conjure up an actual bathroom, Sabrina simply made do by creating a large washtub filled with warm water and rich, soapy suds. A pile of fluffy towels plopped next to it; Sabrina winced at the thought of dust covering them. She turned her back on the other girl, more out of nervous habit than anything else, and quickly stripped and stepped into the tub. It took a great deal of self-control to not zap it into a Jacuzzi, but she allowed herself to relax in the soothing water briefly before beginning to scrub the dirt off.

_I can hardly wait until I get home. Real showers, and no dust or spiders, and rooms that stay the same with no flying books or crazy shrinking devices, and my aunties…_

A lump suddenly stuck in her throat as the images of Hilda and Zelda Spellman flashed in her mind. Were they worried about her? What had Drell told them? What would have happened if she'd really died? A sudden wave of homesickness broke over her like a wave of nausea.

Emily, who had decided to simply sit and wait until Sabrina was done bathing, watched her in shock. Sabrina was sitting in the tub, water lapping at her skin, as still as a statue, a single tear running down her cheek. Her face was distant and frozen, and so lonely that it tugged at Emily's heart…or, rather, her sentiments, being as she lacked a physical heart at the present time.

She slowly knelt forward, reaching out a hand to touch the living girl's cheek. "I know how it feels," she breathed softly, her voice as clear and soft as wind chimes in a gentle spring breeze. "Being away from the people you love…it feels like a cord tugging at your heart, beckoning you back."

Sabrina's lips trembled slightly. "I wanted to come back so badly," Emily continued, musing. "Daniel and I were lost there; it was so unfamiliar. Our souls were trapped so far away…it took forever to find home again…and then, this…"

The Spirit Detective's face scrunched up briefly. "I want to go home, too," she whispered. "I miss them so much. I was so **afraid**…afraid that I'd never see them again."

"You'll get to. After all, it took me nearly a year to find my way home after I died; but I found it. You will, too."

Another tear dropped even as Sabrina smiled.

After a slightly awkward pause, Sabrina began to scrub her skin and wash her hair more vigorously, until she decided that she was clean enough. She mournfully examined her ruined dress as she toweled herself dry. "Just great," she grumbled, "and I don't know any repair spells, either. This is juuuuust **great**."

"You can wear one of mine."

Sabrina turned to face Emily, blinking. "Beg pardon?"

"My dresses." Emily gestured towards the armoires on the other side of the room. "You may wear one of them to the party. If you'd like," she hastily added.

Sabrina smiled._ She really __**is**__ generous…_ "Thanks."

It was hard to choose; even for living over a hundred years ago, Emily had great taste. But when her fingers brushed against a dress wedged near the back, she felt somehow compelled to pull it out. Bewildered, Sabrina held the dress up for inspection.

It was a simple dress of deep forest-green velvet, with a drop-waist and a skirt that fell in soft, simple billows of fabric. The neckline was low and square, edged in a simple design of lace that also adorned the cuffs. She stared at it for a moment, trying to place the garment.

The memory flashed by almost too quick to latch on to._ This was the dress I was running down the Endless Hallway in!_

There was a snatch of the dream—twirling before a mirror, the skirt flowing out around her thighs—but it was gone just as quickly.

Emily noticed her examining it. "Try it on. We're about the same size."

Indeed, it did fit. The velvet shaped itself nicely against her body, the sleeves neatly reaching her wrists. "You may keep it," Emily said softly, almost embarrassed. "It isn't like I'm going to wear it." She gazed wistfully at the ghostly dress she was garbed in.

As she carefully shut the armoire door, Sabrina couldn't help but feel a throb of pity for Emily. The ghostly girl would never be able to grow up, never again be able to wear the clothes and jewelry and perfume her room was adorned with. She brushed her hair, tying it back with an ivory-colored ribbon that Emily had produced from the jewelry box. Emily's feet had been smaller, but Sabrina was able to magically augment a pair of dancing slippers to fit her own larger feet.

Once she had been deemed worthy, Sabrina accompanied Emily (with Salem tagging at their heels, still on the lookout for mice) down the hallways, towards the first floor, and to the Ballroom door. The change from Thorne's blight was immediately perceptible: no spiders scurrying across the floors, no creaking suits of armor or creepy-crawlies scuttling about. Even the daguerreotypes of the crumple-faced ghouls had morphed into stiff, formal photographs of Gracey family members.

Emily looked about with interest at the hallways she'd played in as a child. _It's changed…and yet, it hasn't. _No portraits leered, nor marble busts glared, as the two girls made their way through the dusty corridors.

All too soon, Sabrina and Emily stood before the double doors of the Ballroom, muffled strains of music and snatches of conversation sounding just beyond. The ghostly young woman paused shyly, turning to her living companion. "Time for the party," she whispered softly, and beckoned to the doors.

As if they had a life of their own, the massive double doors slowly creaked open, much like the gate had when Sabrina first arrived at Gracey Manor. The butterflies in the detective's stomach leaped and swirled.

_Why am I so nervous? Maybe…I wonder how the ghosts will take it now that Thorne's gone…what they'll think of me…_

The doors opened to reveal a "swinging wake," as the Phantom Five had earlier sung. The 999 happy haunts of the Mansion had crammed into the Ballroom for the party of their afterlife. Luminescent specters stood in small groupings, talking animatedly. Old Pickwick, of course, was dangling precariously from the chandelier, chortling drunkenly and shouting greetings to friends he spotted below.

Herr von Baroketch, the Organist, was seated at his beloved grand pipe organ at the far end, pounding out "Grim Grinning Ghosts" arranged as a waltz. Phantom couples in masquerade attire danced on the main floor, twirling back and forth, in and out, in a dizzying pattern. Even more waltzed through the air like macabre butterflies.

Garlands of dried flowers were entwined around the marble pillars, and similar wreaths and bouquets were hung upon the walls. The marble surfaces glittered as if freshly scrubbed. Scattered tables dressed in faded linen held shimmering bowls of an iridescent liquid that Sabrina guessed was ghostly punch.

Salem nudged insistently against Sabrina's legs, prompting her to lean down and scoop him up. "Great party," he drawled. "But where's our host? Or should I say, **ghost** host?" he teased.

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Sabrina mumbled. Even so, she scanned the length of the Ballroom, desperately trying to sort out Edward Gracey from the masses of spirits._ Darn it, Edward…where are you? Come to think of it, where's Leota?_

Suddenly, he was there, moving amongst his guests, shaking their hands and greeting them, after so many years… With a slight turn of his head, intense hazel eyes were boring into Sabrina, and a half-smile graced his lips.

"Brother?" Emily whispered. She took a few hesitant steps forward.

Her younger brother—physically older than she—stopped as if rooted to the ground. It was as if the prodigal child had returned; instead, the long-lost sister had found her way back to the family fold. "Emily," he murmured. Could all his dreams have come true? Had his family, whom death had relentlessly snatched away, come back to him?

Emily's lips trembled, unsure of what to say or do. This tall stranger who stood before her: could this possibly be the dark-haired little brother who built castles of wooden blocks? Was this suave gentleman the same boy who ran around in the garden with his big brother and sister, letting his shoes and socks become muddy beyond belief? Was this "Master Gracey" really Eddy?

And then a century fell away in a rush, and Emily ran, crying, into her brother's arms. Edward cradled his sister as she sobbed, relieved, into his shoulder. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting the Detective's._ "Thank you,"_ he mouthed.

Sabrina nodded._ After all this time…I'm glad that they're reunited._

A smaller black-haired boy, who greatly resembled Edward, pushed his way out of the crowd, impetuously flinging his arms around the two siblings. Edward reached down and wrapped an arm around the boy, hugging the two smaller figures closely, unwilling to relinquish them after more than a century of separation.

_That kid…I recognize him from that portrait! He's Daniel!_

Daniel Gracey was attempting to calm his older sister down, while darting nervous glances at Edward for approval. Edward's maturation, Sabrina decided, had caused his older siblings to treat **him** like a superior. Edward's arms were around them both, and he was beaming down at them fondly. He rather reminded Sabrina of her father, ten years ago…

_Come on, Sabrina, stop thinking about your family. It'll just make you more homesick…_

"Edward?"

A hush quickly fell over the crowded hall like a damper. Cursing genetics for causing her to be so short, Sabrina hopped up and down, trying to see over the crowd to determine who had spoken.

The masses of spirits pulled back, forming an aisle across the floor of the Ballroom. Standing at the other end, in front of the doors, was Elizabeth. The bride's veil had been pulled back over her dark curls, and her chocolate-brown eyes were wide with amazement. A single tear trickled down her cheek. Sabrina could see her hands trembling around her bouquet.

Hushed murmurs slowly grew as the ghostly partygoers excitedly noted Miss Hollingsworth's arrival. Edward, back to the speaker sighed with a note of frustration as he reluctantly released his siblings. Upon the sight of his bride, he froze—for the second time that night. "Merciful God," he whispered.

Elizabeth's lips trembled, tears welling in her eyes and nearly blurring her vision. "Edward…" With a cry, she dashed across the floor, voluminous skirts billowing around her slender frame. The bride flung herself at her long-lost groom, sobbing into his chest.

Edward, for his part, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair.

Daniel and Emily simply stood there, confused.

"I was waiting," Elizabeth choked, "for s-so long…"

"I know," Edward mumbled. "I missed you. Every day, I couldn't stop thinking about you…how I'd failed you."

"You didn't!" Elizabeth lifted her tearstained face from his chest.

"If I hadn't arrived so late…" His eyes were downcast to the floor, unable to face her with the guilt bottled inside.

"It wasn't your fault!" She lifted her free hand to touch his face. "Look at me." Edward obeyed, shame haunting his features. "It **wasn't** your fault," Elizabeth softly insisted. "We were victims of a madman, of circumstances beyond our control. There was nothing that we, mere mortals, could have done to prevent it."

He swallowed, still feeling a slight twinge of guilt.

Elizabeth sighed. "But it's **over** now. We can move on." She peered into his face, her eyes softening. "We're together again. Nothing can hurt us, or pull us apart."

Edward paused, hazel eyes meditative. He pursed his lips, then nodded. "Yes. I see. But still…can you ever forgive me?"

His bride sighed, exasperatedly, and shook her head in mock dismay. A smile slid across her face. "Yes. I forgive you, love."

Edward brushed a curl out of her face, looking at her lovingly. Elizabeth hugged him again, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.

Sabrina sighed._ I love a good love story…and while this one had a rough middle, and incredible obstacles, it still had a happy ending._

"_Love endures all, no reason, no rhyme_," a throaty female voice intoned. "_It lasts for eternity, beyond the end of time_."

Sabrina blinked._ Sounds like… _

"Leota?" Salem called, confused.

Several more guests parted to reveal the psychic's crystal ball placed upon a nearby table. Inside, the spirit of Madame Leota Toombs smiled, dead and well.

"You look ravishing, hon," she winked at the teenage witch. In a louder voice, she announced, "Now, let's see. We've got the decorations. We've got the hall. We've got the witnesses. And we even have the minister." (Here, an elderly ghost dressed in ministerial robes waved his hand merrily at Leota.) "So…what are we missing?" The Creole psychic shot a sly glance at the couple in the middle of the floor.

"Elizabeth." The bride turned to face her beloved, who continued, "Shall we finish what we started one hundred and twenty years ago?" He extended his hand towards her.

The bride smiled, reaching up to pull the veil over her face. "Yes." She placed her gloved hand in his, and the two turned to face the ghost of the Reverend, who had produced a Bible from somewhere within the folds of his clothes.

As if on cue, von Baroketch began pounding out Mendelssohn's 'Wedding March' on his beloved pipe organ. Emily and Daniel looked at each other, shrugged, and stood at their brother's side, stealing amazed and shy glances at the woman in bridal attire.

Sabrina folded her arms and smiled. "It's so sweet," she sighed. "They finally can be married, after so many years of waiting for each other."

"Yeah, yeah," Salem mumbled as he crawled under a table. "Wake me up when the mushy stuff's over."

Sabrina shook her head, chuckling, and watched as the ceremony proceeded._ It's the perfect end to a story as horrific as this…love conquers all, and everything turns out as it should be. _She paused, leaning against a stone column as Edward kissed Elizabeth's hand, giving her a loving smile._ But where do __**I**__ fit into all this? What is my role in the ending? There's so much that I don't understand…_

"And do you, Elizabeth Hollingsworth, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish in death as in life?"

Elizabeth smiled at her groom from underneath her veil. "I do."

"What God hath joined together, let no one cast asunder," Reverend Ryman declared, tucking his Bible under his arm. "From this day forward, you will be joined as one for all eternity." He beamed at the couple.

"Edward, I think you know where to take it from here," Leota smirked.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the groom folded back his bride's veil and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. "Whoo hoo!" Sabrina yelled, clapping.

"It's about time!"

"Congratulations!"

"Aren't they so sweet?"

Edward had stopped kissing Elizabeth, and she was laughing at the cheers and catcalls, curls beginning to fall out of her bun. Edward wrapped his arm around her, and the guests began to swarm up to offer their congratulations. As he shook hands and acknowledged the well-wishers, Edward scanned the Ballroom for the only living guest. Gently nudging his bride, he made his way towards the detective, Elizabeth following.

Sabrina was disturbed from her reveries as the ghostly newlyweds approached her. She smiled, and shyly reached out to touch Elizabeth's hand.

"Thank you," Elizabeth whispered. She gently smoothed a section of Sabrina's hair. "I..I…thank you." Tears were beginning to slide down her cheeks. "Thank you so **much**…for freeing us."

Sabrina flushed, embarrassment beginning to make her uncomfortably hot. "Y-you're welcome."

"No," Edward insisted. "We truly thank you, Miss Spellman." He turned the hazel intensity of his eyes to bore into hers. "You came to a place you knew nothing about, to help people you had never met or heard of. Willingly, you agreed to free us from a madman's curse, at the risk of your very **life**. And for what in return?" Edward paused for breath. "We have offered you nothing." He looked at her in wonder. "And yet you still helped us, the damned."

Sabrina felt she must have turned cherry-red by now. "Well…someone needed to help," she hedged._ Even thought I had no choice in coming here, I could have left. Instead of investigating a creepy old house, I __**could**__ have teleported myself back home, and got Aunt Hilda to intervene at Council. I Feel like I don't deserve his thanks, and yet…_

"Such bravery and selflessness should not go un-rewarded," he pursued. "But what in return?" he mused. "…Ah! I have it!" He turned to the detective, beaming. "Stay here, with us. I shall hand the deed to you: the entire estate is at your disposal. We'll give you a position…Head Caretaker. You can use the Gracey power and wealth as you see fit."

Edward beamed. Elizabeth paused, looking a trifle concerned._ So much responsibility you're placing on her…can she handle it? Is this even the right course for her to take?_

"I…" Sabrina's voice trailed off and died. The possibilities circled dizzily around her. Edward was offering her power and wealth for her disposal…

_Think of the possibilities…_

The finest schools would leap to have her apply…she could save thousands of whales…she could have a wardrobe the envy of every single girl at school, including Libby… She'd be the toast of society… An image of her on the beach at the French Riviera dangled enticingly before her: dressed in a chic two-piece, perfectly tanned, with gorgeous European hotties swarming about her, lathering her skin and offering her grapes…

Salem rubbed against her ankles, purring, desiring to be picked up and held.

And then a different image presented itself… Sitting at home with her two aunts, playing Scrabble and eating (or throwing) a huge mound of popcorn. Aunt Hilda showing her the scales upon a violin. Aunt Zelda absent-mindedly puttering around her lab, trying to end world hunger or create a cure for the common cold.

A lump formed in her throat, choking her, as hot tears slid down her face.

_I don't care. I don't care about power or money or any of this…I just want to see my family again…sleep in my own house…I want to go home!_

She shook her head, trying to rub away the tears with her sleeve. Elizabeth had started forward, concerned at the younger girl's tears. Sabrina sniffled, and tried her best to become composed. She broke into a smile for the Graceys.

"I—I appreciate your offer, Mr. Gracey," Sabrina began. Edward smiled at her encouragingly. "It's incredibly kind and generous of you to offer me this, but…"

The proud smile on Edward's face slipped away and shattered, leaving him confused and peering at her in curiosity.

"I'm only seventeen. I still have a year of high school left—and four more of college. I have a boyfriend, and a family, and a lot of training to do before I can become a fully qualified witch." She drew a deep breath. "I would love to stay here, in this beautiful old house, and live like an American princess," Sabrina admitted. "But I love my life at home—in my community. I have friends and family, and a future ahead of me that, unfortunately," she smiled wryly, "doesn't involve a shipping company or a haunted house."

Edward was upset for a moment, having a brilliant plan dashed—but only for a moment. He nodded acceptingly. "I see." He sighed mournfully. "You would have made an excellent Gracey heir."

Elizabeth smacked Edward with her bouquet.

"All right, all right," he hastily amended. "No subtle influencing. I **promise**."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes playfully as she stepped forward and kissed Sabrina on the cheek. "You made the right choice," she whispered. "We may think nothing of it, for we are among the dead, but you must enjoy life while you are still alive."

She pulled back, and the Spirit Detective and ghosts stared at each other, silence settling between them.

"I suppose you must leave soon," Edward murmured.

"Yes." Sabrina paused, attempting to find the right words. "It's almost sunrise."

Elizabeth looked down at her bouquet. "I thought that the sun would never rise again, as long as Thorne held his reign of death over us. But here it is."

"Will you have a way back home?" Edward inquired, conversationally.

"I can teleport myself back." There was a pregnant pause, as what **should** and **could** be said were weighed.

"I…I don't **want** to go," Sabrina cried, frustrated. "I've never met," she whispered, "people that I could share my secret of witchcraft with. And here, I found people that accepted it—even if it was because they were supernatural, themselves. I don't want to leave you!"

"But you have to," Edward explained gently. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's necessary for all of us to leave what we've come to know and cherish. Everyone—humans and witches alike—must open that door to the unknown and continue living. We cannot; we are the dead. But you," he whispered fiercely, "still have a future. You still have hope."

"What will happen to you once we've left?" Sabrina looked around at the hundreds of ghosts filling the room. "Where will you go?"

"We're free to move on." Edward placed his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "We may—or may not. It **is** my home, after all."

Elizabeth smiled. "I suppose we may decide to move on, one day—who's to say when? We'll decide, eventually." She smiled at her husband.

"Besides," Leota called from the edge of the room, "not knowing is half of the fun!"

Sabrina turned towards the psychic, tears beginning to well in her eyes._ I never thought we'd have to say goodbye…not like this…_ "Leota…"

"That's **Madame** Leota, to you!" Leota joked. At the distraught expression on the detective's face, the psychic softened. "Honey, you have to move on, like we will, one day. You—and us, included—can't stay here forever."

"But I'll never see you again," Sabrina whispered.

"We'll meet up again, some day." Leota winked. "I've seen it in my crystal ball. And the crystal never lies, hon. I should know—I'm in it!"

Sabrina laughed through her tears, sniffling again. Salem padded over to Leota's table. For a moment, the cat and the psychic watched each other.

"So long, Leota."

"Goodbye, Salem. Please," Leota lowered her voice, "take care of her. She needs your support—and guidance—more than you think."

Salem started. "**My** guidance? **Me? **The same warlock who nearly conquered the Mortal Realm?"

"Yes, you, Mr. Hotshot," Leota rolled her eyes. Her manner abruptly shifted from playful to seriousness. "You've got a good heart, Salem. Don't forget that."

The cat slowly nodded, perhaps in disbelief or grudging friendship, and turned back to the teenage witch. Sabrina knelt down to pick him up, and buried her face in his fur.

"Salem…let's go home."

Leota sadly smiled, as she watched her pupil turn to the doors, familiar following. Sabrina opened them, and took one last, long look at the Ballroom, and the souls she'd saved. She focused her gaze on Leota, and for a moment, saw her as a tall, proud woman, in a flowing blouse and skirt, wavy hair piled high. Vision-Leota smiled sadly, and slowly waved.

Sabrina waved farewell to the assembly of ghosts, before closing the door behind her. A lone tear trickled down Leota Toombs' face.

"Goodbye."

Many of the ghosts—the newlyweds, Emily, Daniel, and the 'Welcoming Committee'—accompanied Sabrina to the front door. She stood in front of it, trembling, facing the same doors she'd entered in what felt like a century ago. Sabrina held up a hand to push the nearest door open, and stopped. The Seafarer's Ring glittered like seawater on her finger.

Dismayed, she turned around. "Edward, I forgot to give you your ring back!"

The new groom shook his head. "Take it. Let it be a reminder of your time in Gracey Manor—and of us."

Sabrina paused, searching Edward's face, but understood. "All right."

Turning again, she pushed the door open. Both massive doors slowly creaked open onto the porch. Before Sabrina was a soft gray sky, pearly and sweet. The land was cold and dark, but crisp and fresh, slowly revitalized after decades of suppression. Soft rays of light peeked from the horizon, ready to announce the dawning of a new sun. The wind was brisk and refreshing, as if steeped in **life**.

She turned back once more, to look upon the faces of those she had come to hold close. Edward held his hand up, in farewell, as Elizabeth wrapped her free arm around his waist, loosely hanging on to her bouquet. The bride slowly nodded, tears silently slipping down her face.

_I guess…sometimes, to hold on to something…is to let it go…_

And with a deep breath, the girl looked at her cat, who nodded his assent. She slowly walked out of Gracey Manor, out of the darkness and into the light.

The door slammed with a dull thud behind her, and she understood then, that when she opened the door to the Haunted Mansion, she opened the door…

…to the rest of her life.

* * *

Ladies and Gentlemen: it has been ten long and wonderful months, but we have finally reached the inevitable: the Epilogue, and last chapter, of Tribute. I am unbelievably happy that I have managed to successfully begin and end a story, and pay "tribute" to some of my favorite things in the world (Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, the Haunted Mansion, Phantom of the Opera, etc.)

But I couldn't have done it without you: the reviewers. Thank you: to each and every one of you, and **especially** to Flashbeagle, the first reviewer, whose interest and encouragement has kept me going. I'd also like to extend a HUGE thank-you to Javer and Zennou-Sakusha, who reviewed the entire story because I asked them to. Claps for you, and THANK YOU! To Favourite: Thanks for reviewing this **and** my other stuff. You rock! Also, thanks to reviewers Morainerulz dude and Kenny. And last, but not least, to my dear ElfQueen86. I hope you're enjoying Tribute off at college, and you still help to inspire me! Thanks!

I must admit, I purposely omitted the Author's Notes from the previous chapter in order to make the chapter the ultimate cliffhanger. Was Sabrina dead? What happened?

Now, for the comments that would have been added as an Author's Note in the last chapter: Most of the dialogue in the Stretching Room was taken directly from the ride, albeit tweaked a little. The scene itself is fairly true to the ride, as well.

Each of the major ghosts died in a way appropriate to the way their characters were portrayed in the ride: Edward, the "Ghost Host," hung himself (the Ghost Host in the ride does the same), the Bride with the beating heart was stabbed (heart…blood…stab…it just sort of associated together), and Madame Leota was beheaded (because all we ever see of her is her head).

If any of you have caught on by now, doors are a HUGE theme in this work. I used this for many reasons, one of which being that it symbolizes both beginnings and ends (The end of the Gracey era, the beginning and end of Thorne's reign of terror in Gracey Manor). Doors can also be impediments to overcome, or passageways to knowledge. I saw this as a symbol for Sabrina's quest for self-knowledge. Oh lord, this is starting to sound like an English essay. I'll stop right here.

Even though this fanfiction has ended, don't be fooled into thinking that the adventures of Sabrina as a Spirit Detective have ended. They've only just begun… Sabrina's adventures continue in the next installment of the Spirit Detective Files, a crossover with the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. If you liked this story, please, **please** read the sequel. I can guarantee that you won't be disappointed.

It is my goal to create a series of stories spanning the length of Sabrina Spellman's career as Spirit Detective of the Other Realm. The stories, which will be based on a blend of the Sabrina TV show and the newly transformed manga, will slowly be tied in with Yu Yu Hakusho near the end. Never fear, the Reikai Tantei **will** make an eventual appearance.

I'm winding down, and I'm out of words to say…I can only once again repeat my thanks to those who have supported Tribute, and express my hopes that you will continue to do so in the future.

From Crescent Venus Productions, I'm Crescent Venus. Good night.


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